Harry Potter: Trickster Extraordinaire
by CenturionAfricanus
Summary: Harry walks away from his time at the Dursley's scarred, jaded, and with an unusual talent for illusions. Possessing an independence streak a mile wide, hidden behind a well maintained facade of normality, how will the wizarding world deal with a 'savior' who thinks nothing of them. Jaded and dark grey Harry, sisterly Luna, Harry/Fleur. Attempted no bashing.
1. Chapter 1

**I don't own HP**

The world is an illusion.

Some people change the phrase to say the world is a lie, but that isn't the whole of it. A snail, which the world can see and believe is a rock, will not stop being a snail. The snail never told anyone it is a rock, others simply see what they can believe and move on, never stopping to question. It's simply human nature, to take the easiest path available, passing off potential issues with not so much as a by your leave.

It's that line of thinking that allows a passerby to see a small child working hard in a garden and believe he is earning some pocket money. A teacher to see a smaller than normal child with bruises on his arms and think him accident prone. A classmate to see him alone and move on, to avoid drawing attention to themself.

The snail is only ever just a snail. It will move forward at a slow and determined pace, carrying its burden and shield as it goes. It may take months or even years, but that snail will reach its destination, a place to rest and shed the burden it has carried for so long. It may seem like a simple, a common garden snail, but in a world of rocks,

He can change everything.

Harry Potter woke quickly when his Aunt rapped on his cupboard door. He threw his covers off gently, careful not to knock spiders loose from their perches, and slipped out. After washing up quickly, Harry began the arduous task of making enough food for both Vernon and Dudley Dursley. If he was honest with himself, Harry didn't think it could be done, but he was forced to try everyday at breakfast and again some days at dinner.

The morning rush in the kitchen began just as Harry finished the bacon and had moved onto the eggs. As usual, Vernon was down before Dudley, and, after giving it a cursory glance, dug into his first helping of breakfast. The meal finished almost twenty minutes later as Dudley made sure there were no scraps left for Harry to filch, making sure he watched him finish the food as he washed the dishes. The pair of boys were then herded out of the house with their bags and sent off for another day of school.

Harry sighed as he and Dudley walked, the chills of October already frosting the tips of the fine cut lawns in front of each and every house on all of Privet drive. As the duo reached school without incident, a rarity Harry was grateful for, he stopped for a brief moment to glance at his reflection on the school doors.

Harry wasn't like either of the Dursley men, compared to their girth, he was skinny as a rail, nothing more than a toothpick. His natural thinness was further accented by the saggy jeans held up only by an old used belt and a baggy gray shirt whose bright logo had long since faded away. His black hair gave Aunt Petunia fits, she had tried many attempts to tame it with no success, even cutting it off didn't stop the mop from standing out against Harry's scalp. His face was thinner than most children, devoid of the soft edges most parents would fawn over.

The only part about his appearance Harry took any pride in were his eyes, and his scar. His scar was a jagged little thing, just above his right brow. Unlike other scars, this one remained red, like it was still healing despite the fact Harry had had it since he was a baby. According to his Aunt and Uncle, he had gotten it the night his parents had died in a car crash. It was all he had left of his parents and no matter what Vernon and Petunia said about them, he would cherish their memory with the reminder he had.

His eyes on the other hand, were alive in a way no old scar ever could be. They were the finest shade of emerald, too dark to be called sea green and too bright to resemble a forest. Despite the rest of his body, Harry's eyes always had a life of their own, sparkling in the light and almost glowing in the dark.

His moment of self reflection was cut short however as the school bell rang and 9 year old Harry rushed inside for yet another day of standard education with the little bits of fun he would bring with the deck of cards he had tucked in his pocket.

****break****

Lunch was a simple affair for most people. Sit down, eat something, usually some kind of sandwich and that's it. Simple. For Harry Potter, who was never allowed to bring a lunch like the other students, he had to earn his.

While most students would open their lunch boxes, Harry opened an old card box and slip out a deck of common playing cards with a grin on his face, and the show began.

While Dudley wasn't watching, Harry would perform cards tricks for a small group of students. His little show each day only lasted a few minutes, but when it was over, the watchers would give him small bits of their lunches as payment for the show. Nothing much, just sandwich butts, chip crumbs, and the odd candy bar on a good day, but for a boy who would otherwise only get one meal, if that, a day it was well worth the effort.

He knew he had to be careful though, performing the same trick in front of the same people would ruin the fun, and if Dudley ever saw his little act, Aunt Petunia would be the first to know and that would be the end of that, not to mention the punishment for performing 'magic'. His Aunt and Uncle had a real trigger for any mention of harmless tricks and the like, while normally a very easy button to avoid pressing on his cold hearted relatives, Harry knew it was only a matter of time before he was caught.

But Harry didn't worry about that as he cheerfully used a thin fishing wire to make it seem like he was levitating several cards as a trio of girls watched in awe. He loved to do his tricks and the food was an added bonus, he was content. Harry wasn't struck unless he broke something or mentioned magic, he found ways to get enough food to survive, and he had his tricks.

That positive outlook on a rather dreary life was about to change though, change triggered by a bushy haired girl who was watching his card tricks with a sharp eye and hated the unexplained.

****break****

"As you can see, the card floats by itself, its like real magic!" Harry told his captive audience some three weeks after his first performance of the floating card trick. This was his riskiest trick and the only one Harry performed with something other than just his cards.

"I know how you're doing that." a shrill voice cut off Harry, who jumped in shock. A brown bushy haired girl marched in and swiped her hand in the space between the card and Harry's hand.

Time slowed for Harry as he watched the girl's hand neared the fishing wire, which would ruin his trick, leave him hungry, and if he was unlucky, someone would tell Dudley, which meant a beating that night. The normally carefree Harry panicked and closed his eyes, hoping beyond hope that the girl's hand would miss, that anything would happen to keep his trick safe.

And much to both his and the girl's shock, her hand passed unobstructed over the card, which remained floating. Taking the miracle in stride, Harry quickly ended the trick and snached the card.

"Like I said, magic." Harry intoned the last word loudly as he took a bow to his amazed little audience and a seperate bow to the bushy haired girl who almost ruined his gig. Harry ate well that day, a whole sandwich for his miraculous tricks that day had him smiling on the walk home.

What he didn't see was the fuming girl storm away and spill the interaction with his cousin, who smiled from ear to pudgy ear at Harry's breaking of rule number one in the NORMAL Dursley household, no _magic_.

After the two boys got home, Harry began trimming the back bushes while Dudley spilled his considerable guts to Petunia, whose face grew dark and glared at Harry's back. Dudley just smiled his piggy smile and knew his cousin was going to get it when Vernon got home.

That night Harry heard Vernon's car door slam with more force than normal, and the front door slam shut behind his giant Uncle. He wondered what could have set his Uncle off so badly as he moved through the kitchen, preparing dinner. Hearing his uncle's heavy footsteps behind him, Harry turned around in time to catch an empty beer bottle smashing down on his head. The bottle shattered when it landed, knocking Harry to the floor, sending his glasses skittering across the floor, a cut opening above his hairline.

His uncle's kicks rained down on Harry, who quickly put himself in the fetal position to weather the beating. Whatever had happened, it had been bad, and the alcohol in his system had completely removed any restraint Vernon may have shown.

"You think it's funny boy, you think its funny to disrespect everything we've done for you. Feed you, put the clothes on your head and the roof over your head." Vernon spat, and Harry just waited for the blows to continue, he knew from his rare past beatings that answering his uncle would only make things worse for him.

"All we've done and you spit on our efforts by being a FREAK!" Vernon's kicks became heavier and Harry felt one of his ribs give way, causing him to scream in pain. So his uncle had found out about his routine at school, and this was the beating he had been dreading for years.

Vernon paused in his kicking to grab Harry's hair and pulled him to his knees, his lightning bolt scar in clear sight aggravating the drunken Vernon even further. "I'm going to beat the freak right out of you boy, starting with erasing that freaky scar." Vernon spat as he brought the broken bottle up and then down right over Harry's scar.

The broken bottle carved a thick path through the lightning scar, but the bottle didn't stop there, it continued downwards and into Harry's eye, carving the optical organ from his head. Harry shrieked in pain, thrashing in pain as Vernon lifted the bottle again. Before he could swing however, a black smoke poured from the slash he had carved through his nephew's face. The smoke gave a wild howl before dispersing and vanishing.

The sight was enough to shock Vernon back to his senses. He dropped his bleeding nephew and tossed the broken bottle into the garbage. "Get to your cupboard freak, you'll not be going to school any longer." Vernon spat and made his way towards the sitting room to watch the television. "And clean up that blood, I won't have the kitchen left a mess!"

It took Harry most of the night to stop his face and head from bleeding more, pressing a worn rag Petunia had tossed down on him and one of his few shirts to stem the crimson flow, before setting to work mopping his own blood from the kitchen floor until it was shining white once again. Bland normal white, like a child hadn't just been bleeding out over the cold linoleum. When he was finally done, Harry curled up in his cupboard and let the tears pour from his remaining eye.

He knew he was going to be beaten, he knew that he was going to be hurt, but he had kept on performing anyway. It was like an addiction, once he started, he couldn't just stop, it just felt right, like his little tricks were what he was meant to be doing.

The more he thought about it, the more Harry came to the conclusion that there was something more to his parlor tricks. When the girl from lunch tried to out his, the card actually began to float and the fishing line vanished, as Uncle Vernon beat his, black smoke poured from his head. And no matter how much blood poured from his wound as he tried to hold his face together, he never felt light headed from blood loss. Those things weren't normal, they were almost…...freakish.

Freak had always been the go to name from his Aunt and Uncle, and it was beginning to become clear as to why.

As he lay in his cupboard, an old shirt bandaging his bleeding head and face, Harry James Potter accepted the fact he was different from everyone else, he could do things no one else could, and he would learn to use it, he would better himself, he would be better than people like the Dursleys, so obsessed with normality. He would be better then the girl, a devout follower of the rules of others.

That night a spark was ignited, a small flame flickering in the depths of the world. How big the flame would grow to be, and how much it would consume, only time could tell.

****break****

The next day, it was a very smug bushy haired girl who went home from school. She had been frustrated when the boy who was tricking other kids out of their lunches, defying the teachers behind their backs.

But he hadn't been back today, and when she asked his cousin, he told her his cousin had been punished and would be shipped off to a reform school, and that made Hermione Granger's day.

After-all, she thought to herself as she entered her parent's dental practice, magic wasn't real.

**Ok, It's been a while. I've had this idea stewing in my head for months and I've got two more chapters written out, but after that I have no clue what will happen with this story. I'm going to finish Magical Sense, but making changes to the arcs within the Harry Potter world are seriously fighting me, and a part of that is rereading things now and cringing at what I wrote going, how did I think this was a good idea at the time. **

**So this might just end in a few chapters, this might go on and become a full story, both are completely possible. I'm just getting the idea out into the world and seeing what happens. Restless author syndrome and something along those lines. I've got other ideas like this where I've written the first chapter and two and it's just sitting on my computer so I might blast those out and just keep going for what grabs interest. **

**So as always, Happy Reading -Centurion Africanus**


	2. Chapter 2

**I don't own HP**

It had been two years since Harry had his eye carved from his head, and it was more than his reflection that changed.

Hair that was once wild and untameable, now hung loose and long, covering the massive scar on the right side of his face. His complexion had paled to an unhealthy shade, a result of long hours spent crammed in his cupboard, only let out to trim the garden, mow the lawn, and take out the trash, almost always before the sun had first risen.

His lone green eye had hardened, no longer shining with childish glee. To those who could see through his mask, the lone gem glittered with clear intelligence and hidden malevolence. The scar he was once proud of was now covered by raised rope-like scar tissue and hidden behind his bloody streak of hair. The red mark now thinned to a white line, far overshadowed by the evidence of Vernon's rage.

Neighbors that did see him working in the early mornings were told he had cracked, and his loving family was helping him heal. They saw the bottom tip of the cut that had halved his vision as a sign of his recovery from the path of delinquency, newcomers to the street were quickly informed of his fragile mental condition and warned to avoid him.

While most children would suffer from the lack of human contact, Harry thrived. He had gone from the child who constantly sought his recognition from others, to someone who thrived on his own. Harry, as he lay bleeding, had come to the conclusion that the only one he could trust, was himself. So he kept to himself, speaking only when spoken too, only letting the bare minimum show. Vernon thought he had finally beaten the freak out of his nephew and would go to bed most nights congratulating himself for turning his freak of a nephew into a future productive member of society, by his definition.

But that couldn't be further from the truth. Every night as his 'family' went to bed, Harry would remain awake, his one eye watching the dark coffin that surrounded him. He would feel for the power within himself, and he would set it free.

Flames would pour forth from his closed fists and ran along the inside of his cupboard, lighting up the deepest corners of the sealed space. The flames glowed in every color imaginable, green, blue, red, black, but nothing burned, there was no heat. Only Harry could see the colorful fire, only he could feel it tickling across his skin. It was an illusion only he could see, a higher form of his little card tricks.

If the rest of the world didn't want to see him, then fine, he would show them what they wanted to see, all the while he would be more than they ever thought possible. While the other residents of Privet Drive strove for normality, perfect lawns and perfect families, Harry let his life roar with life and color, he was more than everyone else here, and he knew it.

****break****

When the tall strict faced woman in what looked like a tartan bathrobe strode up the front walk as he trimmed the rose bushes, Harry's interest was peaked, here was someone who broke the clean cut mold that Privet Drive enforced so piously. Simply by being out and about as the sun was only just beginning its daily path already set her apart before taking her dress into account.

Harry watched his Aunt answer the door, pale, then slam the door in the woman's face. Harry watched, ever the silent observer as the woman grew visibly frustrated at the closed door before she drew a stick from within her sleeve and gave it an artistic wave at the door. Much to Harry's surprise, the door swung open and the woman strode inside, ignoring his Aunt's shrill voice within.

Harry closely watched the open door and listened closely as an incensed Scottish vernacular argued back and forth with his Aunt's harpy voice. Finally the arguing cut off and the woman marched back out of the house and turned to face the rose bushes.

"I know you're there Harry, I need to ask you a few questions, your Aunt has concerns you don't meet the special requirements that are needed to enter a special boarding school." Her voice was rough, but flowed with a quality Harry couldn't place. He rose from his crouched position behind the rose bushes and nodded slowly, running one hand down the long hanging hair that covered his destroyed eye. Behind his carefully displayed childish caution, ideas were presented and discarded as his brain sought for a logical reason this woman was here. He gave a careful nod, watching the woman's every move.

"Now Harry, have you ever noticed anything strange happening when you get upset and afraid, things you can't explain? Can you remember anything like that?" Harry took a moment, keeping an inquisitive look over his fast paced mind. If her dress was anything to go by, this woman was different, Harry decided to take a risk.

"You mean like this?" he asked, his voice a little scratchy from disuse, but still normal sounding for a child.

Slowly, Harry lifted his hand palm up and concentrated. He brought out his illusion of fire and willed it to reveal itself to the woman, who gasped in surprise at the display of colorful flames dancing in his palm.

"Well that certainly answers that, and in one of the most extraordinary fashions I have seen in a long time. Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Professor Minerva Mcgonagall of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry." The fact that she only introduced herself after he had shown off was a key for Harry, it told of inclusiveness and a passive arrogance.

"I can make things appear, but if I want someone else to see them, I have to want them to see them, can you do it too?" Harry asked, his mind quickly building his mask. This was a professor, and what professor didn't love an inquisitive student, eager to learn for the sake of learning.

"I can do that and so much more, if you come with me I can explain further." she held her hand out to Harry, who grabbed hold with exaggerated eagerness, and Privet drive vanished from his vision with a crack.

Harry and Professor Mcgonagall landed in an old back alley, enclosed by three brick walls and an old door with peeling black paint.

"Follow me Harry, we'll find a nice quiet place so I can explain magic to you." the professor led him through the door, silencing his questions before they could begin. They entered the back of an old bar, filled with the strangest collection of people Harry had ever seen, everything from turbans to feathered robes covered the patrons as Mcgonagall took a key from the barkeep. She swiftly led Harry up a rickety set of stairs and opened a side room with a tea set waiting.

"Now, While I'm sure have a lot of questions, allow me to explain and I will answer any questions you have after." she told him, drawing a stick from her maroon tartan robe and flicked it over the tea set. Harry watched in genuine awe as the kettle lifted itself and poured himself and Mcgonagall steaming cups of tea.

And so the explanation began. Making sure to keep an awed and interested look on his face, Harry took in everything, from wands, to Hogwarts, to his own history. That was certainly enlightening.

It also set off every alarm bell in his mind. Why would a 'dark lord' target him, a child. His parents being targets was understandable if they stood against him, but to kill a child he could hand off to a servant to raise and indoctrinate made no sense. And why was HE given credit for killing this Voldemort character, he was an infant with no cognitive process except desiring food and care, not at all capable of stopping a, to that point, guaranteed kill spell.

"So I can do magic, I can do even more magic with a wand, and I beat some guy when I was a baby?" Harry asked, keeping his voice childish and full of excitement.

"That is correct Mr. Potter, the basics of it at least." Mcgonagall said, her face in a small grin. Harry smirked to himself, clearly his excited student act was working, paired with the sympathy he gained for having to live with the Dursleys meant he could get as many answers as he desired while also getting into the good books of one of his future teachers.

"So what was the teleporting thing you did to get us here, why was there a crack sound, why didn't you pull out your wand, can I learn how?" Harry rapid fired his questions, his bright smile stretched across his face.

"Apparition is an advanced technique you will learn when you turn 17, it doesn't require a wand because you aren't projecting your magic, but centralizing it. The crack sound was because I was bringing you, experts can apparate without making a sound, but bringing a passenger is much more difficult. I don't want to hear about you trying to apparate before you get lessons for it." Mcgonagall finished with a harsh look that Harry matched with a series of fast nods, his next questions ready.

"So why have wands then, what do you mean projecting and centralizing magic, are you a master of apparateing?"

This time, Mcgonagall's smile grew, and Harry knew he hit the correct question path to show he was intelligent and wanted to learn, but still young and excitable. And more, he was giving her a chance to answer questions in sizable chunks instead of getting them all out at once, making the conversation more of a dialogue rather than a lecture to answer a laundry list of questions that might overlap.

"Let me explain it this way, when you do your flame trick, normally only you can see it correct, and you get tired if you keep the flame up for a long time, correct?" Mcgonagall asked and Harry nodded, despite the fact he could go all day with the flames out in the open without tiring.

"The flames are a physical representation of your magic, raw and unrefined. You are making it appear, but it is still centralized within you. It goes from existing within you, to existing outside of you, with a small drain for the act involved. I was surprised when you showed it to me because that requires projection. Most witches and wizards don't have a firm enough grasp of their magic to project their magic onto others because their own magic protects them passively. Nature itself has a a passive magic that protects it as well.

That's why we use wands, it focuses our magic so we can project it out into the world. Things like the animagus transformation, which is the natural ability to change into a set animal, and apparition don't need wands, its an inwards focus of magic.

Your fire trick works on the same principle, while it only looks like fire, your magic reacts to those you want to show it to, reaching out and forcing them to see it. Normally this wouldn't work, but you have either an excess of magic power, or very good control over your magic to be able to show others your fire. That means once you get a wand in your hands, you will be a very good spell caster, so I expect you to do well in my class. And no, I am not a master of apparition." Mcgonagall finished, a wry grin on her face as Harry absorbed her words.

The concept was simple, but also complex. Mcgonagall may expect him to only grasp the surface of her answer, but Harry could discern more than that. It meant that a wand was merely a learning tool as he either expanded his magic pool, something he presumed expanded with age, and he worked on his control. It also told him that if he wanted to continue working with illusions, he would need to learn what already existed, because all he could do was project raw magic, he wasn't giving it form and purpose, which made control that much more difficult.

"I think that's all my questions for now, can we go get me a wand now, and some books too?" he asked excitedly, doing his best to impersonate Dudley asking for sweets.

"First we need to go to Gringotts, then yes, we will get what you will need for Hogwarts." Mcgonagall agreed, leading Harry out of the room and back through the bar to the back alley.

"Now remember this for if you need to enter by yourself. It's three up and two across." she told him, drawing her wand once again and tapping one of the bricks on the back wall. "Welcome, to Diagon Alley."

Harry allowed his jaw to drop at the sight of the geometrically impossible street of buildings. Witches and wizards bustled back and forth, the many youths telling Harry it was a popular time for school shopping.

"We are going to Gringotts, the wizarding bank." Mcgonagall told him, gesturing to the pristine marble building at the far end of the alley that was supported by pillars that shouldn't be able to support anything, much less a marble ceiling.

Harry took in the sights of the alley quietly, allowing himself to stray towards building with bright window displays such as the broom shop advertising some new product, and the bookstore.

By the time they reached the bank, Mcgonagall was a little exasperated, but Harry could tell it was in a caring way, she was enjoying his reaction to magic. Before they entered the large doors, Mcgonagall handed Harry a small golden key.

"This is your vault key Mr. Potter, it will allow you access to the money your parents left you after they passed, it is vital you don't do something stupid like give it to someone else or lose it."

Harry nodded resolutely, taking in every detail of the key before stashing it in the sewn pockets of Dudley's old pants. He would have to find some leather strips to make the key into a necklace.

Mcgonagall led Harry into the bank and to one of the little men -goblins according to Mcgonagall- that stood at a high stand. The customers inside the bank were as diverse as the alley and bar, there was even a man who looked 7 feet tall and another 2 wide wearing a thick leather coat.

"Harry Potter, here to make a withdrawal." Mcgonagall spoke crisply to the teller, presenting Harry who gave a small wave.

"Key." the goblin stated blandly and Harry stood on his toes to slide the key onto the goblin's raised desk, doing so only after Mcgonagall gestured for him to.

"Everything seems to be in order, Griphook will take you to your vault." another goblin swiftly arrived and took the key from the teller before leading Mcgonagall and Harry to back room, where they boarded a metal mine cart that shot off like a muggle roller coaster.

Harry enjoyed the thrill of the cart ride, enjoying the wind flying through his hair, but being careful Mcgonagall didn't see the remains of his eye as the wind pushed his hair aside.

As they arrived, Griphook handed Mcgonagall the large lantern from the cart and made his way to the large vault door, using Harry's key to open the vault.

The door opened with a hiss and Harry stared in awe of the stacks of gold, silver and bronze that lay within.

"While your father came from old money, most of it was spent in the war against you-know-who, and most of their various properties now lay in ruins after they were forced to flee from safe house to safe house. But they didn't leave you with nothing. I knew Lily and James well, I taught them both. They paid your full tuition for Hogwarts before you were even born, and they left enough behind for you to live comfortably. They would be happy you got what they left."

Harry listened closely to Mcgonagall, only showing a passive interest in her words, as he ran his hands through the stacks and piles of coins.

"It's 17 sickles, the silver ones to one galleon, the golds ones, and 29 knuts, the bronze ones to one sickle." Mcgonagall said, handing Harry a sturdy leather bag for him to fill. Not questioning why all his coins fit when he put in more than the bag held, already writing the seemingly impossible off as simple magic.

By the time they were back in the alley, Harry had come up with his plan for the rest of the summer.

Can we get my wand and books last, that way I don't go overboard buying books?" Harry asked Mcgonagall, eyeing her for a response.

"Certainly." The answer was brief, but Harry could detect the appreciation for his sense of responsibility, and it enforced his knowledge seeking image.

And so they progressed through the alley, Mcgonagall warning him off from Knockturn alley as they passed the entrance. Buying potions supplies, a trunk, robes and other required odds and ends took surprisingly little time as Harry rushed through the purchases, eager to finish the day with the bookstore.

When there was only his wands and books remaining, Mcgonagall sent him into the wand shop by himself.

"Finding your wand is a journey of self discovery, a step you must take on your own, that and Ollivander has always given me the willies." though the last past was muttered under her breath, Harry heard her and allowed himself to giggle. The wry grin on the professor's face told him she meant for him to hear, and he reacted properly.

As he entered the shop, the scent of aging wood struck him. The shop had a small layer of dust on every surface but the counter.

"Well well Mr. Potter, I'd wondered when I'd be seeing you. You look like your father, but you've got your mother's eye. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work. Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it — it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course"

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, noticing Ollivander's choice in words, he had his mother's _eye_.

"Well that's the fun of it, wands are as alive as me and you, but they only act when choosing who will wield them, how their power matches yours.

"So like matching frequency with a wand?" Harry asked, the idea of a wand suddenly becoming much more clear.

"In a way, I'm not too well informed of the inventions of muggles, but it's more like a personality match. Each aspect of the wand, wood, length, and core all come together to form a personality, and that must match your own in a sense. Take holly for example." Ollivander said as he pulled out a box from behind the counter, revealing a simple wand of light brown. "Holly wands are built strong, but more often than not, their owners are in internal conflict, the wands seeks to aid them, to help them become whole. It's not about matching the personality of the person to the personality of the wand, but finding a pairing that works together. Sometimes opposites attract, sometimes not. Now, shall we begin?" Ollivander asked, holding the holly wand out to Harry who grasped it firmly.

"Well go on, give it a wave." Ollivander encouraged as Harry looked at the wand in his hand with a careful eye. Harry gave it a flick of his wrist and the vase behind the counter _imploded_, becoming a little ball of clay dust.

"Well, that's different. The vase usually _explodes_... not a match though." Ollivander said, plucking the wand from Harry's grasp, giving him an appraising look, it was clear he expected the holly wand to work, and seeing as stories of him had apparently traveled to the wand maker, Harry knew he had judged him based off one.

"Try this, apple and unicorn tail hair, 10 inches." All the dust in the room rose a foot before falling back down, driving Ollivander and Harry into a sneezing fit.

"Nope, try this, ash and dragon heart-string, 11 inches." a gout of flame hit the surprisingly sturdy counter.

"Fir and dragon heart-string, 9 inches." This time the flames did destroy the counter. To no one's surprise, that was the last time Ollivander had Harry try a wand with a dragon heart-string core.

The combinations became more strange, Ollivander even pulled a stone wand from the back to no effect. As the pile of failed wands grew, Ollivander gave Harry a scrutinizing look, his eyes drawn to the streak running through his hair and the scar underneath.

"Try this, Pine, 11 and a half inches, core of braided Puca fur." Ollivander handed the pale wand to Harry before taking cover, fearing another explosive reaction. But this time, Harry felt the wand, like it was an extension of his hand.

As he flicked the wand, blue green sparks, the same color as his flames came forth, glowing and twinkling for all to see.

"Very good, I see where I went wrong. Pine is the wood that symbolizes the independent, sometimes the loner. Pucas are famous little creatures from the Americas that shape-shift into many forms, but their fur never changes." Ollivander explained his wand as Harry looked it over carefully examining it from every angle.

"That would be seven galleons, to help rebuild my poor shop." Ollivander joked and Harry happily paid for his wands and was out the door.

Mcgonagall was waiting for him outside, eyeing the window. No doubt she had seen some of his more explosive failures.

"Well I'm sure that was most exciting, but we have one stop remaining." Mcgonagall said, drawing Harry's attention away from his wand, which he was still exaggeratingly examining, running his fingers over each smooth mark in the wood, and onto the bookstore across the way.

Mcgonagall almost shuddered at the look on his face at the sight of the stacked shelves of Flourish and Blotts. If he didn't make Ravenclaw, she swore she'd eat her hat.

The next two hours Harry spent combing through Flourish and Blotts, handing the class books to Mcgonagall while he went through every section in the shop. He did enjoy a good laugh when he saw children's books plastered with his name, mentally taking note of the publishing company to sue for royalties if he hadn't gotten any already.

When it came time to leave, Harry had collected a several books on spell theory, Hogwarts a History, a book on easy prank spells, and the next six years of the standard book of spells, as Mcgonagall informed him they would be on his book list in the future when he asked.

As they were leaving the alley, burdened by the full trunk, Harry spotted a small second hand shop full of odds and ends and practically dragged Mcgonagall in. He wasn't sure why, but his gut was telling him that he had something to find.

As he entered the musty shop, Harry immediately found his way to the bookshelves on the far wall, reading through the titles faster than any child should be able to.

He stopped on a book that caught his eye immediately. The Illustrious Art of Illusions. There was no author listed, but the book was practically a tome, thick and covered in dust.

Harry carefully pulled the book from the shelf and happily paid the four galleons. Even if it was more expensive than any of his other books, illusions were his domain. The lack of material in Flourish and Blotts had been most disappointing.

With all his supplies purchased, Mcgonagall apparated him back to the Dursley's, where she bullied both Vernon and Petunia into putting him in Dudley's second bedroom by threatening to turn them into a pig and vulture respectively.

Harry just grinned wickedly as Mcgonagall left, the door swinging shut behind her. Now he had the power, and like hell would he let weak bullies like the Dursley's take it from him.

But to ensure that, he had to study, so with a month left before Hogwarts started, Harry Potter hit the books.

**What a week it has been. Wow. A lot more love for this idea than I was expecting, but that could just be because this is a fanfic of the most popular series ever. The most frequent of the reviews I got was questions about the situation going forward, specifically Hermione and Harry living conditions, I do have a plan for Hermione, and I think it's a good one all things considered. **

**As far as the extreme point I took the abuse, that was meant for plot and character building, and just desserts will be had by all, although some might not come until the very last chapter. Most of what's been written so far is directly tied into the plot and power scaling, which will be explained next chapter in a much more concise manner than the regular Harry Potter books explain. **

**All things considered, and the fact I'm halfway through chapter 4, this story will continue, for a while at least, the changes and continual masking of Harry's character are much more complicated to write than you'd think, but I think it paints the picture of jaded illusionist fairly well. As always any feedback that doesn't tell me to kill myself because of what I wrote is awesome, even criticism. **

**Happy Reading -Centurion Africanus**


	3. Chapter 3

**I don't own HP**

The first books Harry read were the ones required for the coming year, giving him a basic understanding of each subject. After he had devoured those, he turned to the books on spell theory, which explained in more detail than Mcgonagall had, the difference between wanded and wandless magic. Included in this was the reasoning behind the different wands movements and spell intonations, and why they became unimportant later on in his education.

Magical control while highly complex in detail, could be summarized rather simply. If one had 100 units of magic power, but only had 50% control, they could only cast spells totaling 50 units. By raising control, one was more efficient with their magic. The more magic one had, the harder it was to control, like trying to hold an ocean's worth of water compared to a puddle.

Magic control also affected how fast ones magic pool refilled. There was no set equation, nor any true pattern to follow, but it was general consensus that those with better control, no matter how much magic they had, would have their magic refilled faster than average wizards and witches. Dumbledore himself was a prime example of this, while he was estimated to have only an above average amount of magic at his disposal, his control was so great that casting spells outside of true battle spells like fiendfyre wouldn't even tire him, as his magic refilled faster than he cast. There was an element of chaos that applied though, a wizard with little control could find that their magic refilled faster than it should and those with greater control that refilled slower than average. One of the many mysteries of magic that existed and was noted as studied in the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry

There were potions to refill ones magic and those to temporarily give better control, but they were very difficult to make and the ingredients cost a small fortune if not found in the wild. Acromantula venom and basilisk scale powder being the most expensive and dangerous ingredients on the list.

The last known aspect of a witch or wizard's magic was the potency. One could have the capacity to hold 100 units of magic, but the potency could make each unit worth double, giving the caster 200 units to work with. While there might only be 100 units, the caster would need to learn to control 200 units, and any growth would happen at double the rate of someone with a 1 to 1 potency. Conversely, there could be a witch and wizard who has a potency of .5, meaning they effectively had half the magic they should. In the case of squibs, more often than not it wasn't that they lacked magic, but rather it wasn't potent enough for them to cast any spells.

While never confirmed, Voldemort was suspected of having at least x4 potency of an average wizard. While amount of magic and the control of magic a witch and wizard had could be tied to both training and, according to some, bloodline, magic potency was completely random. A family with three children could see all the children with the same potency of magic, of different, and those could be the same as their parents, or again, different. The only confirmed method of increasing one's magical potency, was to spend their magical developmental years, ages 11-18, at a location that contained enormous amounts of magic, Hogwarts being one of the most potent sources in the world, which is why so many pure-blood lord were willing to pay to send their children to the school instead of tutoring them at home and customizing their education.

Control and potency also interacted uniquely and with an element of chaos. Sometimes the caster was attempting to control with their potency calculated in, but some casters only felt the amount before potency multipliers took effect. So a caster with a magic pool of 100, but doubled potency, could think they only have 100 units of magic, meaning they were prone of overpowering their spells because they were accidentally doubling the power necessary for each spell. Though most spells that required specific amounts of power were usually cast by wizards who were well aware of how much they put into their spells. Most spells simply bled off the extra magic, and worked stronger than expected, but not with a detrimental effect.

And finally came the book on illusions. Much to Harry's surprise, there was a small book slipped into the front cover he hadn't noticed when purchasing the tome. The _Lokasenna_ was an old epic written in an ancient runic language that vaguely resembled english. From what Harry could decipher it was the story of Loki's dispute with the other gods. The other gods thought they were getting one up on the trickster by ganging up on him, but the trickster used it against them and won in the end. It was pure myth, but Harry enjoyed reading through it before delving into the book on illusions.

He was sorely disappointed however. It seemed that even a few hundred years ago illusions were a dying art, being phased out for more physical magics and a rebirth of complex mind magics. What he now possessed was the collected works of the last true 'illusionists'.

All the illusions in the book had highly detailed descriptions listed, each painting a very specific picture. One made those under the illusion believe they were being eaten alive by a thestral herd, another buried alive in a cold iron coffin, a third had a very vivid description of hell for them to go through. All were needlessly overcomplicated and would take years to master even one. The control necessary to create these exact images while having the power necessary to project them through another person's magic was rare even then, and Harry estimated only Dumbledore and others on his level could cast the spells in the book. And even then, there were other spells that were more efficient magically and did a better job of incapacitating opponents than illusions, so why bother.

As Uncle Vernon dropped him off at the train station on his way to work with only a good riddance, Harry swore to himself he was going to reinvent the illusion art, restore it to what it should be. Not meaningless parlor tricks, not over complicated gruesome scenes. He was going to make illusions dangerous, and Harry knew right where to start, he had the tools, and as he pushed his trolley through the barrier like Mcgonagall had described to him, he knew the train was the perfect place to begin.

****break****

Having arrived almost an hour before the train was due to depart, Harry took the time to try his hand at spell casting, starting with his speciality. First thing he did was test his fire, and just like always, the blue-green glow surronded his hands. Harry gave a smirk as he looked at what he now knew was his magic, this was his greatest tool, and his mind was ready to apply it.

Letting the magic fade back into his body, Harry drew a small hand mirror from his worn jacket pocket and looked at his reflection, at the gruesome scar that carved over his face. He had been lucky that Mcgonagall had been too busy with his excited persona to notice that he was always smoothing his hair down to cover almost half of his face, and that streak wouldn't last an entire year.

Focusing on the same sensation as before, Harry willed his magic to cover his scar the same way it did his hands, and after a few moments, the green-blue flames came to life on his face. Focusing harder, Harry willed the flames to dim and change. He didn't want his magic to flair out, he wanted it to hide and deceive. Using the other side of his face as a base, Harry had his magic form a half mask to cover his scar and missing eye. And for the first time in years, two green eyes reflected back at Harry.

Running a hand carefully over his face, Harry could still feel the raised rope-like scar tissue that made up a portion of his face, and when he closed his real eye, he couldn't see. The illusion was simple, and taxing, but it would serve its purpose. Hiding his true face.

By the feel of it, the illusion wasn't taking anymore power other than the magic Harry had first made the mask of, but it did require him to focus on maintaining the mask. If Harry had to guess, it would be almost impossible for him to split his focus between maintaining the mask and casting spells with his wand, which meant he needed to practice before classes got into heavy spell casting if he wanted to keep his face hidden.

Letting his hair fall back down over his face and willing away the mask, Harry drew his wand and prepared himself to cast his first 'real' spell. One of the simplest spells according to one of his books, power gauge spell could be cast by anyone holding a wand. No 'magic' was actually cast except for the visualization of a person's magic container through colored rings floating around them. The number and color of rings would tell him roughly the size of his magic pool and the color how potent his magic was. A squib or even a muggle could cast the spell if they had a wand, the result would just show them as below the levels necessary to cast.

"Virtute Metimur." Harry spoke solidly and made a small circle motion with his wand. Three circles of green energy formed in front of Harry, who gave a sharp bark of excitement at casting his first successful spell.

The reason magical school started at age 11 is because that was when a young wizard would usually reach the one ring of power, and each following year would grant approximately one additional ring. Average students would graduate with seven rings and would develop around three more through their adult life. Having three rings like he did meant Harry had the power of a third year, not exceptional, but well ahead of the curve. Whether this increased size in magic was an x3 or a +2 in container size, only time would tell.

The color was another matter. The scale for potency went red-orange-yellow-green-blue-gold-diamond. Most wizards started with yellow, the average potency, and would develop to green throughout their seven years at Hogwarts, as it was a place heavily saturated in magic. Starting at green was a much greater accomplishment than having three rings, as the book referenced that orange to yellow was normal for young wizards and witches while green was considered the average adult level of potency, after going through Hogwarts. Rings could be multiple colors at once, half green and half yellow for instance, which was the only reason the 'diamond' shade was known to exist. Legend says that Merlin was the only wizard in history to have pure diamond for his magic.

Harry took a moment to ponder what was meant by the diamond color. The only description in the book had labeled it as clear, but bearing every color. And while Harry could visualize a diamond reflecting every color of the rainbow, he had to wonder what it would actually look like when cast, and how much more potent magic truly was when at that level.

Next was testing his control. This was simpler and actually used one of the spells he would be learning later that year, Lumos the light spell.

"Lumos." Harry intoned and the tip of his wand lit up, glowing like a flashlight. Harry took a deep breath and focused on the light, willing it to dim. It took almost a minute but the spell dimmed to the brightness of a flickering candle. Then Harry went the other way, trying to make the spell shine as bright as he could.

Another minute of focusing on the spell brought it to max brightness then Harry stopped the spell. A minute to go full to dim then another to go back to full. Quickly referencing one of his spell theory books told Harry his control was well above average for his age, first years usually not being able to control their magic other than force it through their wand, part of the reason that the first year course had very few spells that had variance, instead spells with one set effect, no matter how much magic is poured into them were required to teach younger students how to draw upon their magic. It wasn't until third year that most developed the control necessary to change the effects of a spell by degrees like the brightness of the lumos spell, and adding patterns to transfiguration, and even changing the action of an object under the animation charm.

Harry sighed as he put the spell theory books away, rubbing his temples with a sighed. Instead of being fantastic at any one thing, he was above average, but balanced. That was both good and bad, it meant immediately he would be the best in his year, unless there was another gifted individual in his year, but it also meant improvement would require more work, as simply doing the first year workload would not strain him enough to allow his magic to grow like it would for the other first years.

Harry did wonder though why none of the dozen books on spell theory and control weren't on the required reading list, the amount of information within them had helped a great deal in understanding why the classes were laid out as they were, and why certain textbooks were required, but if he had to guess it was because the muggle borns who weren't as studious as him would still be adapting to the magical world. Future years would probably require at least one book on spell theory, his OWL year at the latest if he had to guess.

And so for the next hour until the train departed, Harry went through the spells mentioned in the first year books, finding he could cast them easily after one and two tries at most. Understanding how his magic was meant to interact within the chosen spells and how that applied to the outside world made the casting easy, like lifting light weights at the gym, with his spell theory books acting as the work out instructions.

By the time he had gone through them all, the train had started on it's journey across the country. By this time Harry had tucked away his wand and recreated his mask over his scar, he could train to maintain and spellcast at another time, for now he had to show those who would be looking for him exactly what they expected to see. And his expectations were quickly met only seconds after he had re-disguised himself.

"You mind, everywhere else is full." The door to the compartment rolled open as Harry swapped his Standard Book of Spells Grade 1 for the 2nd version, and a gangly young redhead stood in the door.

Harry just shrugged and cracked open his copy of Standard Book of Spells Grade 2, flicking his wand in his dominant hand as he read over each spell to get a feel for the movements as he read.

"So you're a second year, what house are you in? I'm Ron by the way, Ron Weasley." the redhead said, giving a weak gesture to Harry's book.

"I'm going to be a first year, I'm just reading ahead." Harry responded nonchalauntly, pretending to be absorbed in his book completely.

"What for, you won't need to know any of that stuff until next year, you could be relaxing!" Ron's declaration made Harry roll his eyes, he hoped the whole wizarding world didn't think like this fool. Like any problem would magically solve itself.

Now that Harry thought about it, that was a pattern. It would explain their worship of a toddler.

"But it's magic, who wouldn't want to learn more about magic?" Harry asked, playing up the image of an excited muggleborn. He could already tell that Ron had grown up in a magic household and that he would probably end up in Hufflepuff and Gryffindor.

"You'll get used to it, do you know how to play Quidditch?" Ron asked, leaning forward slightly.

"I've read about it, but I don't know how to fly so I don't think I'd be very good."

Apparently that was all the invite Ron needed, because his mouth took off at a mile a minute. Harry was quick to tune him out as he kept reading, actually interested in testing the spells, but settled for jotting a list of them down in a notebook with the wand movements and words. Much easier than having to dig through wordy textbooks to find the information he needed later.

Harry hoped he could master mental casting, casting with words but no wand movements, by the end of the year for at least the first year spells, second year too if he could manage it. It was also the step needed before wandless casting, which supposedly was the sign of only the most powerful wizards.

Harry had read silent casting was supposed to be covered in the sixth year, but it immediately jumped into the harder spells. By his figuring, it would be easier to learn simple spells silently and motionlessly first, rather than jump right to the hard ones. If he could handle motionlessly this year, next year he could work on silent casting, he would have had enough practice with his magic by then to be able to control it without the crutch that was movement and incantations. Of course, both of those things were required for greater spells, even for wizards like Dumbledore and Voldemort. Harry's end goal was to cast minor illusions wandlessly, major ones silently and motionlessly with his wand, and only need to vocalize his spells for truly great illusions, like those in the tome he found at the junk shop.

Of course, he would need to find more advanced books that covered the difference between projecting and centralizing magic like Mcgonagall had mentioned. The ones he had from Flourish and Blotts didn't cover that topic aside from an offhand mention that they were the two types of spells. From Harry's own understanding, more magic was projected. Every person had a magic 'bubble' that passively protected them from harmful magic. Wand magic was designed to pierce through this bubble and have spells affect the wielder while shield spells did the opposite, allowing for the caster to reinforce and move the location of their magic to defend.

Illusion magic fell out of popularity because of that bubble. Most spells, including illusions, had a visible component when cast, streaks of light flying from the wand to the target, and were all avoidable the same way. And it was much more efficient to knock out and kill your opponent with your single strike that gets through rather than make them see hallucinations that were obviously not real given their situation. To go from dueling to being eaten by zombies is a rather quick transition, and simply by realizing that the illusion exists, most competent spell casters could 'flex' their own magic bubble and end the effect of the illusion, and at most the illusion caster gained a few seconds advantage over their opponent.

What Harry was doing was different than illusions like that. He wasn't forcing an image through an opponent's 'bubble' but rather using his magic to change the appearance of his own. Doing this, other's 'bubbles' wouldn't realize that something has changed, as there was no magic pressure alerting the target's magic that magic was being used at all, just that it existed. Harry's illusions, for the moment at least, weren't projections, but centralization. He was altering his own appearance by changing the appearance of his magic 'bubble' to the outside, as the senses of a magic user were enhanced by their own magic, and would then only see what Harry wanted them to see.

The benefits were that by centralizing rather than projecting, everyone would see the image Harry created instead of just those he cast on. It also meant that maintaining the mask wouldn't take much power, just control and focus, which would improve his overall spell casting. The only downsides were that he currently only had the control to maintain the mask OR cast a spell with his wand, and that left him moments of vulnerability when his true face could be seen. It also meant that he could only make others see illusions based around himself, which was purely defensive in usage.

At least, that's what Harry theorized, he would have to check the Hogwarts library for books that could confirm and deny his theory.

All the while Ron Weasley babbled on and on, at this point Harry could tell it was both a passion and a plea for attention. If the number of redheads packed together at the station earlier was any indication, Ron probably felt forgotten and desired recognition. Ron should work on that.

Harry steadfastly ignored the redhead as he continued through his book, stopping only to 'excitedly' buy a few chocolate frogs from the sweets lady to keep his 'innocent muggleborn' image going for Ron, who complained about the sandwiches his mother had packed him. Keeping in image, Harry tossed him one of the sweets he purchased while diving back into his books, this time opening his copy of 1000 Magical Herbs and Fungi, which was required for both Potions and Herbology class.

"Thanks mate." Ron chirped, catching the frog easily and ripped it open with a gluttonous grin Harry might have found on Dudley. Hopefully the redhead stuffed his mouth long enough for Harry to get a moment of silence. Or perhaps choked and died, that would work too at this point.

"Dumbledore again, already got six of him." Silence that was not to be, as Ron complained over a pentagon shaped card pulled from the packaging with his mouth still full of sweets in a frankly disgusting display.

Harry just rolled his eyes and continued reading, snacking on the chocolates, pretending he didn't notice Ron swipe a few more off his small pile to gorge himself on.

The status quo of the compartment was disturbed however when the door was casually pulled open and three boys stood in the doorway. The two on either side were Dudley sized, Harry observed, and looked even duller than his cousin. Their beady dark eyes didn't even bother to sweep the compartment Harry noticed, but rather alternated between looking straight ahead and flickering to the smaller boy in between them.

The third was thin, unlike his pudgy companions. His features were sharp, raised cheekbones and a pointed chin, and only hints of the usual baby fat seen on 11 year olds, a feature Harry also lacked. His hair was so blonde it was almost white and it was held back with a generous amount of product. His aristocratic appearance was completed by the attempt at a condescending sneer he wore.

"I've been looking for Harry Potter, have either of you two seen him?" The blonde almost spat out. Harry had been expecting at least one person to come looking for him, but this wasn't quite what he had been expecting, more along the lines of fanboys and the like. The intense reddening of Ron's face at the blonde's words was rather amusing.

"That's me." Harry confirmed, holding out his hand to shake and a 'nervous' smile displayed on his features.

"Draco Malfoy, these two are Crabbe and Goyle." Malfoy returned the handshake stiffly, his eyes roaming over Harry's baggy and worn clothing, resting on his hair covered forehead, clearly searching for the scar that Harry was 'famous' for.

"Scar faded a few years back, nothing there." Harry commented, shifting the hair away from his face and focusing as hard as he could on maintaining the illusion mask. This was the moment of truth on if it would hold up to casual scrutiny from classmates, and the momentary pause between Malfoy's confirming nod and when his full 'face' was shown.

Ron, who had been between what appeared to be anger at Malfoy and fawning over Harry finally decided to speak up. "Why didn't you tell me earlier mate." he seemed almost distressed that he had been sitting in the same compartment as Harry and hadn't even known it. Much more the fanboy Harry had expected based on the adults reactions to him back at the Leaky Cauldron.

"You never asked my name." Harry responded, tilting his head slightly and letting his hair fall back in front of his face, accentuating his 'confusion' at Ron's question.

"No point asking who you are, red hair, second hand robes, and the manners of a barbarian, you're obviously one of the Weasley rat pack." Malfoy spoke down to the seated Ron, whose face turned almost a Vernon shade of purple at the insult, but much to Harry's shock, he restrained himself from lashing out. Must be trying to play the victim for the 'Great Boy-Who-Lived'.

"You'll find Potter, that some wizarding families are better than others, I could help you with that." Malfoy said, offering his hand to Harry a second time, and Harry had to withhold a short bark of laughter, it was almost like Malfoy was trying to be a junior mafia.

"But, doesn't everyone have magic?" Harry asked, not taking the hand, not quite yet.

"Some people have better magic, it's a result of superior breeding." Malfoy said pompously, puffing himself up almost like a peacock.

"You mean like the dogs my aunt breeds?" Harry asked, mentally vomiting at calling Marge Dursley his aunt, but it was worth the reddening in frustration.

"No, that is not what I meant!" Malfoy protested, running a hand through his heavily gelled hair in frustration.

"So then, what did you mean, you know more spells? But isn't that why we're going to an awesome magic school? To learn spells and make friends with other magic people?" Harry continued his oblivious routine, taking note of the blank looks on both Crabbe and Goyle's faces, as well as the frustration on Malfoy's face and the fading anger on Ron's.

"Sure, magic people are better because they know more spells." Malfoy finally relented in his point and Harry gave a cheery grin on the outside and a twisted smirk behind his mask.

"That makes sense, I can cast 5 spells, which means I'm five times better than those who can't." Harry said in a fake cheeriness, holding up his wand.

A light seemed to go off in Malfoy's head at this statement, probably the thought that yes, it was possible to convert him to the 'pure-blood' agenda. If he was already showing signs of believing wizards were superior to muggles, even if Harry had to say it in a way that made him seem innocent of prejudice.

Of course, Harry did believe, and rather strongly, that wizards were superior individually to non-magic users. Key word being individually. Non-magic users greatly outnumbered witches and wizards, and they also had missiles. A magic user's greatest advantage, according to Harry at least, was always staying far enough ahead of the non-magicals through deception that neither manpower nor weaponry was ever turned on them, because if they were, then the battle was all but lost.

If wizards were to start rioting and spellcasting in the middle of London, they'd be shot down, dissected, and their society torn apart. But if a single wizard were to turn themselves invisible and start assassinating important figures, or replacing them with polyjuice potion, they could defang the non-magical forces with no loss.

"Yes, that's exactly right Harry, the more spells a wizard knows the better they are. And muggles who can't cast spells are below us." Malfoy agreed, a victorious smirk on his face.

"So how many spells do you know?" Harry asked, still not shaking the boy's outstretched hand.

"My father's only taught me three spells, but I'm sure I'll learn more quickly once we get to Hogwarts." Malfoy's face reddened as he realized that, by the logic he had just parroted back from Harry, Harry was superior to him. Harry was roaring with internal laughter as the spoiled prince realized his own blunder.

"How about you Ron?" Harry asked, turning to the flustered redhead, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"I've never done a spell before, but there is one my brother's taught me. Supposed to turn my rat yellow." He said after a short pause, drawing both a frayed wand and a graying rat from his pocket. Why anyone would ever want a pet rat Harry would never understand, but he supposed that what he'd seen of the wizarding world so far that insanity like having a plague bearing creature for a pet was normal.

"E-excuse me, have a-any of you seen a toad?" a shy voice from the corridor behind Malfoy's gorillas asked, and they parted to let a chubby boy with overly large front teeth into view, clearly shaking in his robes just being near them.

"Nope, have you asked one of the older years if they could help, I read ahead that there is a spell that can summon missing objects, maybe it could also find your toad." Harry offered, disliking the interruption to the show he was putting together.

"That a-a good idea, thanks. I'll go tell Hermione, she's in the next compartment helping me look." And with that, he was gone, not even giving his name. Harry could only roll his eyes internally. A shut-in and what was clearly a busybody who had attached herself to him, he'd have to make note of them during the sorting so he remembered to avoid them. Magical born and otherwise, a busy body like this Hermione sounded to be would probably be all over him as the Boy-Who-Lived.

"Ok then, let's see what you got Ron." Harry quickly refocused the attention of the other four onto the red-head, who gulped and raised his wand over his pet.

"Ok then, here we go. Sunshine Daiseis Buttermellow, turn this stupid fat rat yellow." Ron said, jabbing his want at the rat, who gave a shriek of discomfort as a small visible bolt of Ron's magic hit it, although the rat clearly was still a graying brown.

"Huh, guess you just need to practice the spell a bit more. Don't feel bad, it took me almost an hour to get my first spell right, watch." Now it was time for Harry to prove himself, standing and turning so the right half of his face was facing the window of the compartment, so when his illusion mask gave out his scar would still be hidden.

"Lumos." Harry said, watching as the tip of his wand light up as brightly as he could get it to go, momentarily blinding everyone in the compartment, making sure they couldn't see as he felt his illusion falter and fade, the magic redirected down into his wand. It also made those like Malfoy, who knew the basics, think he had either an absurd amount of magic, or incredibly potent magic.

"Nox." Harry said shortly after, when he was sure the others were good and blinded, he certainly was, and put his wand away, quickly using his magic to recreate his mask. "Sorry it was so bright, I've only managed to tone it down a little." Harry said with fake sheepishness, again leading Malfoy to the conclusion that his magic container was huge, as fitting with his title.

"Just don't do it again." Malfoy grumbled, rubbing his eyes to get the spots out of his vision, the other three boys quickly doing the same.

A quick glance out the window told Harry all he needed to know as the dark skies shone through the glass.

"I think we're almost there, and me and Ron both need to get our robes on, I'll see you in class?" Harry asked Malfoy, who could finally see properly again.

"Of course Potter, and I'll have learned more spells by then, just watch." And with that Malfoy was gone, Crabbe and Goyle following blindly behind him, still blinking rapidly.

Quickly getting changed, Harry followed Ron off the train and out onto the crowded platform filled with other figures crowding around. Most people were heading towards a series of carriages that seemingly moved by themselves, but Harry already knew his destination was different.

"Firs years, this way!" A deep voice was calling out from the other edge of the platform, a large lantern illuminating a seven foot figure in a large brown trench coat. The giant's beard was black and bushy, only the first tinges of grey beginning to appear near the roots. His eyes were small, but even far away, Harry could see a real passion in them, a spark of life that was missing from the eyes of those at Privet Drive.

"No more than four to a boat." The giant had led them away from the platform and down a short set of stairs to a boat house, where a series of small rowboats, each fitted with its own lantern, awaited them.

Harry quickly used this chance to slip away from Ron, who had become disgruntled ever since the spell casting incident. Harry could hear him running through the words of the obviously fake spell under his breath. If Harry had to guess, the boy would put aside any and all class work in his attempt to cast that spell, until someone pointed out to him it wasn't a real spell that is. If he actually managed the spell before then, it would be because his willpower forced his magic to do the work without any proper words and wand movement. Effectively silent and motionless casting. Getting a first successful spell like that so young would set Ron's magic on track to forever cast spells easier from then on. Or he would fail, his laziness wouldn't allow for him to catch back up in his class work, and he'd never make anything of himself.

'Sink or swim. A perfect test for the lazy fanboy.' Harry thought to himself, boarding a boat with a pair of red-headed girls and a tall black boy whose face was almost hawk like in features.

"Al'right then, forward." The giant called, tapping his own boat with a ...pink umbrella...and the boat started forward across the glassy black water of the lake.

"Everyone duck!" the giant called as the boats passed under a bridge covered in hanging ivy that swayed in the with. Of course, on the giant himself actually had to duck, seeing as he was the only one tall enough to be hit by the ivy.

As they turned the corner after the bridge though, even Harry gasped at the magnificent sight that was Hogwarts castle, illuminated against the night sky. The school was every bit the magic castle Harry expected when he had first read about the school in detail in his copy of Hogwarts a History.

This was the sight Harry had been waiting to see since he had first properly learned of magic from Mcgonagall, something that genuinely amazed him, a place that emanated magic from it's very core.

For someone like him, someone whose only happiness in life came from using and learning about their special talent,

This was home.

**Wow, that was long. I meant to post this last night, but I couldn't find the right way to end the chapter and then I found up falling asleep at my desk. But here it is, 6000 glorious words that hopefully paint a better picture about how magic works and how Harry as a person works. **

**I negated the Hermione train meeting because I want Harry to be able to hide his reaction to her, and he isn't skilled enough yet to mask the rage he'll feel when he sees her if everyone is focused on him in a compartment. **

**I've already been getting comments about the pairing with Fluer and what house to put Harry in. I've got plans for both. The Fluer pairing won't happen until the fourth year, and it will be different than what most people might think it will be. I wasn honestly hesitant to say what the pairing was in the description, but I figured it wouldn't hurt to put it in. Just know it won't start until fourth year and even then will build slowly.**

**Hope this chapter finds you all well, and that my description of magic made sense to everyone, and if not, feel free to ask in reviews, I'll try to answer any uncertainties in the future.**

**Happy Reading -Centurion Africanus**


	4. Chapter 4

**I don't own HP**

When the boats finally reached the far shore of the lake, the giant led them to the large wooden front doors of Hogwarts castle and knocked three times, each knock ringing loudly in the quiet night air. Harry noticed several other first years flinch at the sound.

As if on cue, the large doors opened slowly and Harry recognized Professor Mcgonagall waiting for them inside.

"The firs' years professor." The large man said with a sweeping motion with his frying pan sized hand.

"Thank you Hagrid, I'll take it from here." Mcgonagall said, her scotish accent clear through her stern visage. This was the Mcgonagall that had greeted Harry that early morning, not the one he had charmed with his eager mask. With a clear gesture, Mcgonagall led the first years into the castle, setting a brisk pace for the group. Harry had quickly made his way to the front of the group, openly putting on a show of gaping at the castle interior, at the moving portraits and great cobbled floors.

When Mcgonagall glanced back, Harry caught the wry grin she wore for a split second upon recognizing him before her face returned to that of a disciplinarian. Allowing himself to smile a touch more genuinely at his continued success at masking himself, Harry continued to remain at the front of the pack until the group stopped at a second pair of large doors, these ones more decorative than the ones outside.

"Once we go through these doors, you will be sorted into houses. There are four houses, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. In your time spent at Hogwarts, you will find your house is your family, and your success and downfalls will reflect in points earned and lost for your house. I would suggest you prepare yourself to meet the school." And with that said, Mcgonagall slipped through the doors, leaving the first years alone with their thoughts.

Almost instantly, the whispers began. Topics ranging from thoughts on the sorting process to speculating what house everyone would be in. Harry even heard Ron mention his brother's tale of facing down a fully grown troll.

Personally, Harry saw himself as a Slytherin. Cunning and deceit were his bread and butter, and illusions his go to solution. Unfortunately for him though, the few history books he had picked up painted Slytherin in a light he didn't want associated to him. Additionally, to be KNOWN as sneaky was counterproductive to the entire point. And it wouldn't fit the mask he was creating for himself. So despite it being the house he most aligned to, Slytherin was the last place Harry wanted to be sorted.

Any of the other three would work for his purposes. Hufflepuff wouldn't be ideal. The loyalty would come in handy for sure, but the other houses would write him off as a 'duffer', not to mention the constant level of openness he would have to show to be truly accepted into the house of the Badgers.

Gryffindor would also work. It was the house Harry knew most expected him to be sorted into. Afterall, the son of two Gryffindors and the defeater of You-Know-Who obviously wouldn't go anywhere else. But with that would come the expected boldness he would have to show, the showiness almost like a peacock. Perhaps he could join the Quidditch team to fulfill that portion of the stereotype, even if the practice time would cut into his study and magic practice time.

Ravenclaw would be most ideal. It matched the knowledge seeker persona he was putting up, and it would match what some expected of him. It would let others to see his mother, who was supposedly 'The brightest witch of her age' through him. Not only that, it would give him a natural excuse to always be reading and pushing to learn more magic. And he wouldn't be expected to be overly social. The only problem Harry could foresee was the natural inquisitive nature of the other members of his house would drive him spare with their constant questioning into his 'great victory over the dark lord' and the 'mysteries of his scar'. It would endanger his mask, both illusory and behaviorally.

After a few minutes of waiting and a brief interruption from the many ghosts of the castle, Mcgonagall returned and led them into the great hall.

The inside of the great hall was just as magnificent as the rest of the castle. Four great tables were stretched down the hall, each holding about a hundred students dressed in robes lined in blue, red, green, and yellow. At the far end of the room was a fifth table that the professors sat at, each with distinct flairs to standard robes.

Making a show of looking up and staring, Harry admired the obvious work that went into the spell crafting that went into the ceiling of the great hall. It was an illusion, one meant to awe the viewer instead of deceive. Harry wondered if the library had any notes on the exact process the ceiling underwent to show the night sky.

"It's enchanted to look like the sky, I read so in Hogwarts a History." A voice said behind Harry, causing him to tense. That was a voice he recognized. It took every ounce of Harry's self control to not turn around and confront the owner of that smug and self-righteous voice. As it was, he could feel his control on his mask slipping and seeing the girl would ruin it completely. Of all the people to find here, she was the absolute worst. Already dozens of plans were running through Harry's head. Some considered for a moment before being tossed aside and others filed away for future consideration.

As Harry's mind went into overdrive, Mcgonagall had pulled a hat out of her robes and set it on the stool. And it began to sing.

The sight of a singing hat barely phased Harry. Under normal circumstances he might have been greatly interested by the hat, how it had its own consciousness and personality. But right now his mind was too unbalanced to think about complex magic theory. Too busy planning.

Soon the song was over and Harry barely paused to observe the first sorting.

"Abbott, Hannah." Mcgonagall and one of the redheads Harry had shared the boat ride over with stepped forward, nerves showing clearly on her face. She walked forward and sat on the stool, where Mcgonagall placed the old sentient hat on her head. After about 45 seconds, the hat let out a mighty yell,

"HUFFLEPUFF"

An applause from the table in yellow saw Hannah take the hat off and take a seat with her new house, her robes changing color to match those of the students around her.

"Bones, Susan." And so the sorting went. The hat would usually take a minute to sort the student beneath it, sometimes longer and sometimes shorter, but nothing overly long.

"Granger, Hermione." As the name was called, Harry quickly took notice of it, finally having a name to pin to the bushy haired girl who had ruined his trick years ago. Magic wasn't real she had said, and yet here she was, smiling and acting like she belonged.

Harry wasn't one to hate often or easily. He was simply dismissive of most others, as he had been to Ron and Draco back on the train. But he could say with startling clarity that he hated the witch who now sat on the stool in front of him, ancient hat obscuring her judgemental eyes from Harry's view. The only question now was what Harry was going to do with this emotion.

"GRYFFINDOR" the hat finally announced after almost two minutes and Granger happily made her way to the table in red, taking a seat next to Lavender Brown and across from Seamus Finnegan, the only two others to have been sorted into Gryffindor.

That moment was enough to push Harry's control to its limit, and for a split second, he felt his magic rage within him, responding to his emotion. It lasted for only a split second, but Harry felt his mask fall. Luckily, his hair still covered most of the right side of his face, but Harry still quickly slammed down on his emotions and magic, forcing his mask back up. If anyone had seen his moment of no control, they gave no reaction. Harry let out a small sigh of relief and forced his mind to focus on the ongoing sorting instead of Granger.

Draco's sorting was the shortest so far, the hat barely having to touch his head before announcing him as a Slytherin. Not to long after that, it was Harry's turn.

"Potter, Harry."

And like a switch was flipped in the hall, the muttering began.

"Did she say _HARRY POTTER_!" "Is that the Boy-Who-Lived" "Wonder what house he'll be in"

Harry walked forward, keeping an enthusiastic look, but letting a touch of nerves enter his small smile as he hopped onto the stool and Mcgonagall set the hat on his head.

'_Hmmm, quite the mind you have here Mr. Potter.' _The soft and raspy voice of the hat whispered in Harry's mind, epitomising the phrase 'voice in the back of my head'.

'_So much potential and sharpened skill at such a young age.'_ the hat said again, viewing Harry's memories if he had to guess.

'I know, but the question is where to sort me.' Harry shot back at the hat, who gave a soft chuckle in Harry's mind.

'_Yes, I've already seen your thoughts on the matter, and if you were almost anyone else I would have sorted you into Slytherin already.'_ the Hat responded, drawing a raised eyebrow from Harry beneath the hat's wide brim.

'So what's stopping you?' Harry thought back to the hat, his own ideas on the subject popping up rapidly.

'_I serve two primary functions as the Sorting Hat,_' the Hat began, '_To sort first years, and to ensure the environment they are put into will allow them to grow. You are a Slytherin at heart, but if I sort you there, many of the older years would take exception to it, and take it out on you. I doubt you'd make it through the year alive, even with your immense amount of skill. You aren't the first and you won't be the last to be sorted based on the thought of others rather than who you are.'_ The Hat explained, and Harry understood its point. That it also suited his purposes was just an added bonus at this point.

'_Hufflepuff won't do for you either, too closed off. And as much as I'd like to sort you into Ravenclaw, you're too intense for them. While the ravens like to horde their knowledge and read theory, you seek to USE your knowledge. You wouldn't fit in, and while I doubt you care, it wouldn't do to quench the roaring fire that is your ambition'_ the Hat said, a note of humor in its voice.

'Which leaves only one place for me.' Harry thought back to the hat, already preparing himself for the answer

'_That it does, you'll make your mark in'_ "GRYFFINDOR!"

With the last word announced to the entire hall, Harry pulled the hat off his head and walked with a small spring in his step to the table in red, soaking in the loud applause and chants of 'We got Potter!' coming from a pair of over exuberant red headed twins, two of Ron's many older siblings if Harry was correct.

But Harry wasn't watching the student's reactions, only one might recognize him and even then, he doubted Granger could see through his 'fame' and remember back to when she had seen him in the past.

No, it was the staff he was watching. Most applauded politely, even Dumbledore himself gave a short clap with a soft smile on his face. There were two exceptions to this however. Mcgonagall, who wore a brief flash of surprise as he had taken the hat off, and then one of deep satisfaction and pride that was covered up just as quickly as the surprise.

The other was the dour man seated at the far end of the staff table, furthest from the Gryffindor table and closest to the Slytherin one. He wore a sneer of contempt and made no effort to conceal it. If his seat was anything to go by, Harry would guess he was the head of Slytherin, but that still wouldn't account for the sheer level of distaste in the man's face. He could give Vernon tips on sneering and looking down on someone.

But Harry knew how to deal with his type, with bullies. He would have to be careful with his mask around the man, but he would endure and prevail, as he always had before.

Finally tuning back into the sorting, Harry was surprised to hear Mcgonagall calling the final student up to the stool.

"Zabini, Blaise."

As the dark skinned boy was sorted into Slytherin, Harry took the opportunity to view those nearest him, the ones he would be expected to have conversation with during the meal.

He was several seats away from Granger thankfully, and the seat to his left was occupied by an older red-head, most likely another Weasley. To his right was Ron, who was glancing down at his now red and gold tie, and across from him were a duo of fellow first years, Neville Longbottom from the train and Dean Thomas if he remembered correctly.

With the sorting now complete and Mcgonagall vanishing the stool with a wave of her wand and carrying away the sorting hat, Dumbledore stood, his voice carrying across the great hall.

"Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you."

Harry raised an eyebrow at the elderly wizard's words, even as the table in front of him filled with food and all the students began passing trays.

"Dad's always said Dumbledore was a genius, never mentioned he was mad too." Ron commented, holding out a full platter to Harry. "Potatoes?"

Harry quickly grinned and loaded up his plate with a full meal, taking small servings of everything passed to him, out of both genuine curiosity and to maintain his excited persona.

Harry ate slowly, keeping his ears open as the table talked. Most were friends continuing conversations from the train ride, but there were a few that Harry noticed were glancing down the table at him, eyes drawn not to his face, but his hair covered forehead.

Taking advantage of the chatter, Harry kept his head down for the most part, pretending to hang onto the words of the older years. He only gave an opinion when asked, and he was forced to test his illusion several times when other students asked to see his scar. Most were disappointed when he explained that the scar had 'faded' as he aged, but accepted his words without a second thought. Another point to the pattern he had been noticing.

"Welcome to Gryffindor!" The friendly but separate conversations were all drawn to the ghostly head rising from the center of the table where the turkey sat.

"Hello Sir Nicolas, how was your summer?" the red-head to Harry's left greeted, raising his goblet to the ghost.

"Simply dreadful. Once again the Headless Hunt rejected my application to join their numbers." the ghost answered, his tone light despite his complaint.

"I've heard of you, you're Nearly-Headless Nick." Ron said through a mouth of ham, drawing looks of irritation from those sitting near him and said ghost.

"Well yes but…."

"Nearly headless, how can you be nearly headless?" Granger's grating voice came from down the table, those sitting near her seemed relieved that her attention was off of them.

"Like this." The ghost said with a sighed, pulling his head sideways, causing his entire head to fall sideways with only the smallest bit of skin holding his stump of a neck to his jaw.

A chorus of disgust came from around him, and not just from first years. A sight courtesy of Ron Weasley and Granger.

With that done, Nick put his head back on his head and he floated away towards the Hufflepuff table, muttering about the disrespect young people gave to ghosts.

As Nick was leaving, the dinner on the table faded away and desserts of all kinds surfaced in their place. Once again, Harry took a small serving of everything and only made the smallest contributions to the conversations going on around him. Now wasn't the time for making a splash, it was time to observe and absorb. If he was going to show only what was expected, then he first had to know what was expected.

And not just the student's expectations, but also the staff's. Taking another cursory glance at the staff table, Harry noticed that three professors in particular were focusing on him. The headmaster, the dour greasy man seated nearest the Slytherins, and the man next to him, who wore purple robes and a matching turban.

While the Slytherin and headmaster showed the expected interest and disdain respectively, Harry noticed that the turbaned man was hiding his true expression. If reading his lips was anything to go by, then he was faking a stutter every time he spoke. Harry made a mental note to be careful in his class, at least until he knew what the man was hiding behind his stuttering.

At long last the desserts vanished from the tables and Dumbledore stood again. "Welcome, to students new and returning. Before you are released for the night a few reminders. The Forbidden Forest is, as the name might imply, forbidden for students to enter. A warning for both new and a few older students." Here Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he focused his gaze at the Weasley twins, Fred and George, who had both schooled innocent and shocked expressions on their faces, but were unable to stop small smirks from forming on their lips.

"Additionally, Mr. Filch has reminded me to remind you that the complete list of over 400 banned objects is posted to his office door, for you to read over at your leisure." Harry already knew the only reason any student would be looking at that list was to get prank ideas.

"And one last thing," Dumbledore began, the twinkle fading from his eyes. "The right-hand third floor corridor is forbidden for any who wish to avoid a gruesome and untimely death." Harry's jaw dropped, as did many other student's at this news, as the whispers began to echo through the hall. Quickly reschooling his expression, Harry knew that he would have to look into the third floor and think over Dumbledore's words later.

"And with the announcements out of the way, it's time for the school song. Everybody pick a tune and we'll be off."

What happened next was the loudest and most off tune attempt at music Harry had ever heard. But despite the unholy cacophony of noise, the whole was singing. Each in their own tune and most with rolling eyes, but they did it. It was the first time in the wizarding world Harry had seen an entire group of people acting as one, even if it was grudgingly and painful to listen to.

Maybe Dumbledore wasn't as mad as everyone thought he was.

"Ah music, a magic more powerful than any taught here. Prefects, lead on." Dumbledore said, dismissing everyone for the night as the Weasley twins finished their funeral march version of the song.

"First years, this way." Percy Weasley called, rallying the first year Gryffindors to himself. Harry could see prefects from the other three houses doing the same as everyone flooded out the large doors of the great hall.

Harry took note of where each group went. The Slytherins went down into the dungeons, Hufflepuffs went down corridor one the main floor. Percy led the Gryffindors into a central hub, followed closely by the Ravenclaws.

"This is the grand staircase, if you can find your way here, you're mostly safe from getting lost, and be careful on the staircases, they like to move." Percy explained as the seven stories of staircases moved above them. One swept around and landed right in front of the group of Gryffindors, and Harry could see a second do the same for the Ravenclaws.

"How many floors is Hogwarts?" Harry asked Percy as the group made their way up the many moving stairs.

"Three levels of dungeon below the first floor, which has the great hall, and seven stories up, again counting the floor with the great hall. The entrance to Gryffindor Common room is on the fifth floor, we're in one of the three main towers. The other two are the astronomy tower and Ravenclaw tower. There's also the clock tower, but no one really counts that." Percy explained as they passed the third floor.

Harry glanced at the hallways that spawned from the 'forbidden' floor. None of them were lit, but only one had spiderwebs forming over the suits of armor that lined it's halls. If he had to guess, that was the so called 'death' hall.

The group continued upwards, with Percy pointing out trick stairs to avoid, and Neville managed to find just about all of them with his feet even after the warnings. The trek finally ended when PErcy reached a painting featuring a large woman in a white and pink dress.

"This is the Fat Lady, guardian of Gryffindor tower. Just give her the password and you'll be allowed in. The password changes once a month and again at holidays, so remember to get each new password from the prefects. This month is Caput Draconis." As Percy spoke, the Fat Lady grinned silently and the painting swung inwards, revealing a hole in the wall behind it, leading into a large room filled with couches, tables, chairs, and a large window seat. On one wall was a large fireplace, blazing merrily and warming the large stone room.

"This is the common room, the space is shared so don't go hogging the best spots for too long. Up those staircases are the dormitories for boys and girls, boys, don't even try to go into the girls. You'll find your belongings are waiting for you. Come the morning, I'll lead you all back down to the hall, but for classes you're on your own. Goodnight, and welcome to Gryffindor." Percy said, finishing what sounded like a practiced speech.

As the older years settled into the common room, taking up almost every seat, the first years trooped up the stairs, Harry trailing behind them, taking in every inch of the common room.

The dorms were separated into seven floors, one for each year. Each floor of the minitower connected to the main Gryffindor tower had a bathroom with showers, and a large room filled with curtained beds, each decorated in red and gold. The bed circled a heater in the center of the room, which had a small fire blazing within.

Harry and the other four boys settled quickly. Dean Thomas, a muggleborn, and Ron argued about their posters, Ron insisting on one of an orange Quidditch team and Dean with a muggle football one (soccer for Americans). In the end they put them both up and glared at each other childishly.

Seamus Finnegan was trying to get the shy Neville convinced that the first thing they had to learn was how to transfigure water into rum. Why the Irish boy was so insistent on it was a story Harry was not interested in.

"It's getting late and I'm going to sleep, you think you all can keep it down a bit?" Harry asked, rubbing the back of his head and smiling with false sheepishness as he sat on his bed, hand already preparing to draw the curtains shut.

"No problem mate, sleep well." Ron answered, starting to take notice of his own bed and yawning after Harry gave a fake one for him to copy.

Monkey see, monkey do. Phycology at its finest.

When the rest of the boys had gone quiet and the room was dark, Harry sat on his bed with the curtains closed. In his hand he controlled a small portion of his magic, letting it simply exist in as the flame it had always shown itself to him as.

The whole day had been draining for Harry, and a moment of quiet with just his magic for company was just what he needed.

Before he had even gotten on the train, Harry had known he was going to have to try to blend in. To be unseen allowed for the best disguise, but his Boy-who-lived status prevented that strategy from working. Which meant he had to show something much more difficult.

He had to show everyone what they WANTED to see in their so called 'savior'.

Fanboys like Ron wanted to see a friendly figure, someone who would lead them, but would share in the rewards of success. A leader of people, but followers of a 'light' agenda

Then there was the other side of the coin, Malfoy and those who wanted to use his fame. They wanted someone naive and workable, to be convinced to follow their agenda, which opposed the 'light' and was called 'dark'.

And the last major group was Mcgonagall and other adults. Who looked at him and saw a different kind of hope, one for the future. They wanted to see someone pushing to learn and become more, but still relatable to their memories of his parents.

Idiots, all of them. They all were trying to use him for tasks they could do for themselves, and that made them weak.

Harry had crafted his mask, the base of it at least. His mask loved magic. Both the difficult specifics, and the sense of awe that most felt when magic was mentioned. As he learned more about what was expected of him, he would have his mask slowly develop into what everyone expected. No one would see him, no one he had met so far was a real enough person to see beyond his mask.

And that thought brought Harry to a realization that surprised him.

Despite all he had been through, despite the cruelty he had faced and the disdain he genuinely felt for most people he met, he still wished to find companionship. For an eleven year old, that might mean a friend or mentor to spend time with, one to discuss with. In the future that might be a lover, one who could see through his mask, and understood it.

The thought that such a person existed both relieved and terrified Harry as he organized his thoughts, forcing himself to focus on his moment of self discovery. Was this really what he wanted.

'Yes, it is.' Harry realized after a long pause spent studying his magic flicker in his hand, its blue-green illuminating his dark bed.

'It's why I acted the way I did on the train, my words to Ron, Draco, and even Neville.'

Harry weighed each of the interactions in his head. He had dismissed Neville after only a brief glance. Neville was too shy, too afraid of the world around him to go out into the world and act.

Ron was similar, but different. Harry could already tell Ron would only ever truly act if he knew HE was going to benefit from his actions. And while Harry could tolerate that, Ron lacked the drive to act in any significant way. So, subconsciously, Harry had presented him a challenge, to turn his rat yellow with the fake spell. If he tried long and hard enough, managing a color-change charm wordlessly and motionlessly was possible and would give him better control over his magic. Or he would crumble under his own laziness, or an older year would stop him and set him back to being a lazy sheep.

Maybe if Ron pushed himself to become something Harry would closer associate himself with the red-head, but for now, all he was was another fanboy to be appeased.

Draco was a parrot. He simply repeated whatever was said to him if he could understand it. For years, that was his father and pure-blood politics. And Harry's 'spell count' basis followed it, in a rough sense. Pure-bloods would usually know more spells than muggleborns because they had more exposure to the magical world, parents and siblings to teach them. Even simple household charms got picked up through their childhood. Harry was sure once Draco got another dose from others, he would be repeating what they said just like he had Harry, immediately buying into what he said on the off chance that he could manipulate him later.

Harry would make nice with Draco, maybe even allow for competition between them about who knows how many spells to form. It would let others see him as a Gryffindor arguing with a Slytherin, and it would keep any rivalry that might form between houses from turning into anything serious. Just a playground game Harry could manipulate as he wished, played by others who didn't even know the rules.

Harry allowed for his impression of his fellow students wash over him. They were childish, so unaware of the world around them, blind even though their sight was literally twice his own. No one here would be a friend for him. This desire for one he seemed to have would fade when it was proved that there was no one here worth associating with, Harry assured himself, inhaling deeply and letting out the breath slowly.

Harry allowed for his thoughts to settle, refocusing on his biggest problem at the moment. Granger. Hermione Granger, the goodie-two-shoes, busybody brat whose interference had led to his eye being gouged from his head.

In a way, Harry could see Granger's action as the primary reason for who he was today. And while he liked who he was, Harry was going to get his pound of flesh.

There was a saying, that when a man sets out for revenge, he must first dig two graves. Harry had no intention of letting his hatred for Granger destroy him. He wasn't going to let her go, but he wasn't going to have a super-villain moment and monologue in front of her, spill his secrets to make revenge somehow more satisfying.

No, Harry rationalized, he was perfectly content watching and waiting. Granger wouldn't make many friends here, not with her attitude, and Harry would be waiting to capitalize on any opening that might give him.

Granger hadn't understood the consequences of her actions then, and she wouldn't understand what would happen to her now. That seemed fitting Harry decided. Re-centering himself from the rage that Granger's voice had brought him. He couldn't allow for another slip like he had in the great hall. He was lucky no one had seen his mask fall and he wasn't willing to take any further chances.

Harry grasped his blazing anger and chilled it with logic, with plans and with determination. Granger wasn't going to ruin his mask like she had his face, Harry wouldn't let her.

With his thoughts finally at peace, Harry lie back in his bed, feeling sleep hanging at the edges of his consciousness. As much as he wanted to stay awake and think about Dumbledore's warning about the third floor, it was simply too late at night now. Harry knew he would have to be the first person awake each morning until he could be sure his illusion mask would hold in his sleep.

So for now, Harry Potter let his magic absorb back into his hand and let sleep overtake him, dismissing one last thought of potential companionship.

He was an illusionist after, and every good trickster knows to never reveal his secrets.

**Well, this is about a week and a half later than I wanted. I found a new problem when writing for this, it's that each small boring scene that usually is filler and keeps the story flowing and prevents time-skips, are all going to be twice as hard to write, because most of them will include both the actual happenings of the world, and Harry's perceptions and thoughts on them. **

**I'm trying to make Harry both mature, but still have roots of childishness since he is still 11, even if he is disillusioned and jaded. Really testing my writing chops, I'll tell you that, and I'm not even sure how effective it is. **

**The magic of the world is the other thing I keep trying to figure out. After watching so much anime, seeing such a loose power system drives me a little crazy to try and write. I don't want Harry to be just casually tossing illusions around randomly and be OP because and it, and I also don't want a weak main character. So I've been rationalizing each and every power and major spell that Harry uses and building reason behind it. What may seem like useless fact right now is actually me trying to lay groundwork. **

**I'm trying to avoid the bashing I did in Magical Sense, but I do count on reviewers calling me out if I happen to toe the line, so reviews are welcome, even if it is just to tell me I'm a horrible writer and I should die. I usually laugh at those for a few minutes. **

**Happy (slightly late) 4th of July and Happy Reading -Centurion Africanus**


	5. Chapter 5

**I don't own HP**

The first week of classes flew by for Harry, and with surprisingly few surprises.

In classes like charms and astronomy, Professors Flitwick and Sinistra both showed fan tendencies. Flitwick by falling off his perch on a pile of books when calling his name and Sinistra by giving him extra points for getting a question correct.

Other classes were completely pointless, namely Defense and History. Binns was a literal walking piece of history, and although Harry thought he COULD be a good teacher, he seemed to have been caught in a rut after his death.

If it wasn't for the fact that he always called roll according to the upper years, Harry would have skived the class for something more useful. As it was, he had resolved to bring his own readings to that class from here on out. Harry did wonder if it was possible to put an illusion on a ghost, and even if his mask was fooling the dead teacher. If the ghost was a more attentive teacher, he might have worried, but for now he was more concerned with the other ghosts in the castle rather than the History professor.

Defense was similar, while Quirrell clearly knew what he was talking about, but his stuttering made him almost impossible to understand and most people didn't take him seriously.

But Harry knew better than to let the simple act fool him. Defense was the class he held his guard most in, volunteering answers the least and sitting in the back of the room. It wasn't enough that people would notice the difference the change in his behavior, but the change was there.

Transfiguration was exactly what Harry had been hoping it would be. McGonagall was a strict teacher, giving a stern warning to Ron and Seamus when they both showed up late to the first class. McGonagall made her class guidelines clear from the first minute in her classroom, and she had cowed everyone into listening.

When her lecture was finally over, complete with a demonstration of turning her desk into a pig, McGonagall had flicked her wand and matches had flown onto everyone's desks.

"Your task today is to turn these into needles. The incantation and wand motion are listed in your textbook in chapter one, anyone who completes the task today will not have any homework." McGonagall instructed as the students drew their wands and turned to the correct page in their textbooks.

Harry had just drawn his wand and focused not on the match, but on the class around him. Most were focused on their own work, but there were a few watching others. Harry waited until those few and McGonagall weren't facing him to cast the spell, saying the words in a clear voice.

Harry could feel the magic flowing down his arm, through his wand, and into the match, turning the wood into a gleaming silver needle. Knowing his mask had fallen, Harry quickly slammed his magic back to hiding his face as McGonagall had predictably turned around at the sound of his voice.

"Well done Mr. Potter, first try. 10 points to Gryffindor. Your next task is to turn the needle back into a match, the spell is on the next page." McGonagall praised Harry, who gave a fake cheery grin that McGonagall ate up before turning back to his book, pretending to study the next spell.

In truth, Harry had already spent his down time every night tirelessly practicing every spell that was in every first yearbook. Not only to cast them to be more than prepared for class, but also to better control his magic so that he could maintain his mask while spell casting.

So far, his efforts had been for naught, but Harry could feel the spells coming easier and easier, which meant he was becoming accustomed to casting spells with has magic, and his control was improving. It was only a matter of time now until he could his mask while casting at least low-level spells.

As Harry sat down for breakfast Friday morning, he glanced at his schedule to double check his classes for the day. Potions all morning and then the afternoon off. Potions master Severus Snape, as Harry learned, was the most hated person in all of Hogwarts according to all of Gryffindor. He played favorites, he gave unfair scores, and he belittled everyone not in Slytherin.

And Harry had somehow earned his ire more than the rest of his house.

This was an act Harry had been thinking over since he had learned of the Professor. He had to show him the arrogant child he expected to see, while still maintaining his innocent eager intelligent mask. Which meant that whatever happened between him and Snape, Snape had to be the one to start it. From there, he would have to play up the dour man's prejudice against non-Slytherins to anyone who questioned his interactions with the potion master.

It would also help solidify his Gryffindor status. He would let the 'dark Slytherin' bully him around without pushing back in a similar manner. It would be something to commiserate with the other Gryffindors about, something for them to latch onto if they ever questioned him.

Before Harry could leave for the dungeons though, he was caught by surprise when a large wild looking brown owl flew to him, a small latter tied to its leg.

Harry quickly took the letter and read it over quickly, his other hand feeding the owl some leftover bacon from his plate.

The letter was from Hagrid, the large groundskeeper who had led the first years across the lake. He was asking if he wanted to come to his hut and have tea this afternoon.

While a seemingly innocent request, Harry did pick up on several unsaid facts. How did Hagrid know that his afternoon was free, why invite Harry, the line saying that it was because he had known his parents and wanted to share stories was the most clearly baited hook Harry had ever seen, and it was also subtle manipulation that Harry didn't think the large man was capable of.

When put all together, it said that someone who knew his schedule wanted Harry to go meet Hagrid. Now the questions were who and why.

The who was easy enough. The only people who knew Harry's schedule were the other first year Gryffindors, none of whom would have the kind of sway to get Hagrid to invite him. That left the professors.

From those Harry had met, only McGonagall knew much about him, but this didn't feel like something she would do. That left Harry questioningly scanning the staff table, trying to think about who might have…

Dumbledore, of course.

Dumbledore would know his schedule and would have enough sway with Hagrid for a simple suggestion to be taken seriously enough to be put into action.

The only question now, was why.

Harry observed the headmaster for a moment. From his eye-watering bright blue robes with little blazing suns to the magazine he was reading upside-down. Out of everyone at Hogwarts, Dumbledore was the biggest mystery to Harry.

Harry still didn't know what to make of the experienced wizard. His oddness was a well-practiced mask, one Harry could tell had been in place for years now. Getting everyone to believe he was both genius and completely barmy, it was almost like Dumbledore was _pranking_ the entire population.

And however impressive that might be, it also meant that he was the most likely to see through Harry's own mask, which made him dangerous.

Pulling a quill from his bag, Harry jotted down a quick affirmative response and sent the owl on its way before departing for the dungeons himself.

The only way to try and find answers was to see what the Headmaster wanted, even if it would cut into Harry's research time.

When Harry reached the entrance to the dungeon, he noticed that a few students were already gathered at the large door leading into the classroom. Among those already there were Malfoy and his two bookends, Crabbe and Goyle.

"Potter, I haven't seen you since the train ride. I've learned another four spells since then, which means I know seven spells now." Malfoy bragged. Mentally, Harry rolled his eyes. This was the childish confrontation he had been waiting for.

"That's awesome, I did too, I learned how to turn a match into a needle and back again, which is two spells, and I also learned the locking and unlocking charms. I know 9 spells now." Harry said cheerily, smiling at the now fuming blonde, even if Malfoy was trying to hide it. "But don't worry, I'm sure you'll catch up one day."

By now, Harry could see more students arriving and his fellow Gryffindors snickering at his 'triumph' over Malfoy. Even a few Slytherins were smirking at the blonde's 'defeat'.

Before Draco could supply a retort, the door swung open with a loud bang and an eerie cold drifted up from the dungeon room.

The students filed in slowly and took seats at the stations that were set up for partners to share a workbench.

While pair work wasn't something Harry was terribly fond of, he knew how to make the best of it.

Taking a quick glance at his fellow Gryffindors, he singled out Neville Longbottom and Fay Dunbar, the two quietest and shyest members of the house of lions. Seeing as Fay had been dragged into the seat next to Granger, Harry quickly took the seat next to Neville, who was somehow working up a light sweat despite the temperature of the dungeon.

"It'll be fine Neville, it's just class." Harry told the boy, more out of concern for his own safety than actual concern for the boy. Potions, he had read, had more accidents than any of the spell-based fields, making it one of the most dangerous classes.

Before the shy boy could reply, an interior door burst open and Professor Snape strode in, his robe and cloak billowing behind him. Harry almost thought it looked like the capes worn by Batman and Darth Vader.

The soft whispers between students came to a grinding halt as he made his way to the podium next to the large blackboard at the front of the room.

Before anyone could even think to comment, the potion's master began to take roll, reading each name slowly and deliberately until he finally got to Harry's.

"Ah yes, Harry Potter, our new... _celebrity_…"

Snape's voice was soft, but everyone could hear the insult in his words. Several Slytherin students, including Malfoy snickered at the man's words.

"Here sir." Harry responded, holding back any inclination that he understood any insult from the man's words.

Snape held Harry's one-eyed gaze for a brief moment, seemingly taking in his hair covered eye next to his bright emerald one before readjusting his cloak in a sweeping motion and continuing down the roll.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he spoke out to the class, his twin black eyes darting from student to student rapidly. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death—if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Snape ended his elegant speech with a violent growl in his words and his eyes refocused on Harry.

"Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" Snape's question didn't catch Harry off guard, not like he had intended, Harry mused to himself. A show of power in the classroom to keep students in check, with the added benefit of humiliating the 'Gryffindor Golden Boy'. Everything in line with a strict professor that played favorites so far Harry thought, his mind quickly finding the answer to the question.

"Draught of Living Death, a powerful sleeping potion sir. It was mentioned in a warning note in our textbook as a reminder to not use the wrong ingredients." Harry answered, matching Snape's gaze with a steady gaze of his own, allowing a small amount of defiance to be seen in his gaze. An unspoken challenge to the professor.

"Tell me Potter, where might I find a bezoar?"

"Our potion making kits came with a few, and a note mentioning that they came from the stomach of goats and other grazing animals."

"What is the difference between Monkshood and Wolfsbane?"

Harder this time, Harry mused for a second, considering not answering the question, but he mentally grinned when the perfect response formed in his head.

"They are the same plant, commonly known as aconite, as stated by the index of our Herbology textbook. Do you have any more questions professor, perhaps about my Transfiguration homework next?" Harry shot back, allowing his gaze to match Snape's. The two stared at each other for a few long seconds before the professor broke the silence.

"Five points from Gryffindor for your cheek, Potter." Snape spat out Harry's name like it was one of his nastier potions before making his way to the blackboard, flicking his wand as he neared it, revealing a set of instructions.

"Working at your bench, you are to brew the boil cure potion. You have until the end of the hour...begin." Snape drawled, leaving the black board and making his way through the classroom, staring closely over student's shoulders as the prepared and stirred the ingredients.

While effective for keeping students on task, Harry could also see why students would dislike him. By being up in their faces, he was keeping them on task, preventing them from being lazy, and if there was one thing Harry had observed, it was that magic users loved to be lazy and allow for others to solve their problems for them.

Harry quickly opened his own textbook and fell into the motions he would when cooking for the Dursley's, prepare the ingredients, then add them one at a time as the recipe called.

It was through this method that Harry managed to catch Neville's own attempt at making the potion. The shy boy was floundering under the professor's glare, his pudgy fingers somehow managing to be cut as sliced the ingredients before he dumped them into his cauldron, already reaching for the next ingredient.

Quick as a striking viper, Harry grabbed Neville's hand before he could drop in the next ingredient, a handful of porcupine quills.

"What have we here, interfering with another student's work Potter, another five points off." Snape tutted as he swept past them, eyes glued to Harry's hand clenched around Neville's shaking one.

"He was going to add his porcupine quills before he put out the fire professor. The book says that will cause an explosion; I was trying to help him." Harry explained in as innocent a voice as he could, while on the inside he was laughing as both Snape and the students bought his act.

"Then he would have failed on his own and learned his lesson Potter, now get back to work before I take more points for talking back to a professor." Snape snarled, turning and sweeping his cloak behind him as he stalked away.

"Thanks Harry." Neville said to him in a quiet voice, setting the quills on the desk away from his potion, drawing his wand to put out the flames under his caldron.

"It's fine Neville, no one should be getting a potion exploded on them in class." Harry said, giving the shy boy a 'sweet' smile before continuing his own work, smirking down into his own simmering potion.

When the hour was up, the student put their potion into labeled vials and turned them into the Professor and leaving, Snape never saying a word, simply sneering at each student that handed him a potion, his expression only softening for Malfoy when the blonde turned in his own potion.

Harry turned in his own vial with a glare, challenging the professor to make a comment, but Snape just deepened his sneer and waved Harry away.

Quickly escaping the dungeons, Harry made his way off the castle and onto the grounds, taking a deep breath of fresh air as he made his way towards Hagrid's hut at the edge of the Forbidden forest.

Only now that he was out of the castle itself did Harry allow for his relief to show on his face.

Snape was different from the other professors. He was the Head of Slytherin house, the 'king of cunning' at the school. And while Harry was sure the man COULD be just as sneaky as he was, he wasn't going to put in that much effort for an eleven-year-old. Especially if he thought he already knew what they were.

And Harry had used that. Everything from Snape's lazy approach in cowing him to how other people viewed the man. Harry let Snape be the aggravator in each of their 'clashes'. He let Snape dictate the flow of the encounter, and then twisted it to suit his needs.

At the beginning and end of class, Snape had waited for him to make a comment he could penalize him for, but he'd remained silent. He'd answered the man's questions correctly, citing his sources, but he had done so in a way that challenged Snape's method of asking. The situation with Neville was an unexpected plus, but one Harry welcomed and played as best he could to his advantage.

Each of these times, he solidified his mask. When the story spread, different people would have different takeaways. Professors would hear he answered the questions, helped another student, and hadn't argued with Snape like a petulant child. The non-Slytherin students would hear about him standing up to Snape. And once the story was spread and he was painted as the hero and Snape the villain. Snape would sneer and continue to see him as the Golden Brat-Who-Lived.

In a single class, Harry had shown himself as a good smart student to the Professors, reaffirmed his sorting into Gryffindor despite his Ravenclaw study tendencies, and had shown the outlier to the norm what he wanted to see, another piece of his mask carefully slotted into place.

Harry gave a sigh as he climbed the front steps to Hagrid's hut, giving a soft knock on the door as he reached the top. Snape had acted entirely within the range of actions Harry had prepared for, and Harry made use of his predictability. He was a bully, plain and simple, and Harry knew how to use bullies.

Snape played favorites and picked on a select few he deemed as the 'bottom of the barrel'. Already Harry could see himself and Neville as prime targets for the greasy man.

But he could work with that.

Harry would never like Snape and planned to avoid and ignore him unless he had class with the man. But that didn't mean he hated him, not yet anyway. Hate was an unforgiving line in the sand that tainted one's view of others. If unrestrained, hate would control the mind and have dire consequences.

But a controlled hate, one refined and held in check until exactly the right moment.

That was a hate Harry would allow himself, it was an emotion he could control, direct, keep from backfiring on himself. It was one Granger would get to know when the opportunity presented itself.

Pushing the dark thoughts from his mind as the door to Hagrid's hut finally opened and the enormous wild haired man gave a sincere smile of greeting to Harry, one of his platter sized hands holding the collar of a panting boarhound.

"Hullo 'Arry." The large man greeted cheerily, his eyes twinkling in genuine happiness. "Come in, come in. I've just put on a cuppa and made some rock cakes this morning." Hagrid waved him in, giving a sharp tug on the dog's large collar to make room for Harry to walk into the man's house.

"Thanks Hagrid, it's been a busy week." Harry said, letting out a fake-tired sigh. Hagrid gave a deep laugh as he pulled out a seat at his table for Harry, letting go of the dog as he reached his bare hand into the fireplace to pull out a large tea kettle.

Once free, the dog trotted up to Harry and plopped his head down on Harry's lap after he sat down, drooling a little as he looked up at the young boy.

"Tha's Fang, might look tough, but he's a real swee' hear' unless you're that mangy Mrs. Norris." Hagrid said, pouring a pair of mugs full of the earthy smelling tea, passing one across to Harry, who accepted graciously, making a show of taking a small sip of the brew.

It wasn't a refined tea, its flavor was rough and strong, but Harry found himself liking the taste.

The rock cakes, as he discovered shortly after, were more like rubber cement with raisins. More useful as building material than as a snack.

"You mentioned my parents in your letter?" Harry prompted after a few moments of tea sipping, Fang's panting on his lap the only sound in the cabin.

"I did." Hagrid said, his eyes holding a gleam of joyful reminiscence. It was a look Harry could recognize, as most Professor looked at him with those eyes.

"You've got yur mum's eyes," Hagrid started, gesturing towards his lone visible eye, "But the rest of you is yur dad. Same face, same smile, same hair, thou yours does lay much flatter." Hagrid began. Harry knew that now he had gotten the ball rolling; he could look for what he was really meant to find here.

As Hagrid told tales of his father's mischief and his mother's studiousness, Harry scanned the cabin, taking in every detail he could. The shack was simple. The walls inside weren't as circular as the outside showed, but rather octagonal. The half of the building they were seated in was a kitchen and dining room. A sink and cupboards were on one side of the table and a large fireplace on the other. On the walls were various newspaper clippings, and at a glance they all featured a magical creature discovery.

The other half was mostly taken up by a pair of large beds. One Harry could tell was for Hagrid, and the other was a dog bed for Fang, who had since moved his head from Harry's lap and had moved over to Hagrid's side. Harry took a small break in his observations to sample one of the rock cakes Hagrid had provided. After almost breaking a tooth, Harry quickly set it back down on a napkin. Rock, yes. Cake, not so much, though Hagrid seemed to enjoy them well enough.

Nodding and repeating meaningless platitudes as Hagrid spoke, Harry's mind was active as he continued to scan the cabin for any sign of why Dumbledore had wanted him here. What the old man wanted to see in him.

Quickly dismissing the obvious things like the beds and kitchen ware, Harry quickly squinted and began deciphering the many newspaper titles scattered on the walls until his gaze settled on one in particular.

While most of the headlines were beginning to yellow with age, one seemed like a fresh addition to the wall.

'**Break in at Gringotts' **was printed in large text and pinned onto the wall, breaking the theme of magical creatures that the other titles held. This was it, the irregularity he had been looking for. Quickly refocusing on Hagrid, Harry let the large man talk and reminisce until it was nearly sundown before begging off to do his schoolwork and eat dinner. Hagrid let him leave with a cheery smile and a standing invitation to join him for tea on future Fridays, never seeing Harry's nimble fingers swipe an article from his wall as he left.

Quickly making his way back to the castle in the fading light, Harry slipped into the great hall to eat a quick dinner, deflecting any offers for companionship for the night, citing his homework as the reason. Nodding off one last complaint about Snape from Seamus, Harry left the table and slipped into his refuge, the Hogwarts library.

Madame Pince, the librarian, was a strict woman. She swept through the many shelves quietly and was quick to remove those who mistreated the books or raised their voices above her tolerance level.

Harry always made sure to handle the books he poured through with care and give the stern woman a silent smile and wave as she walked past him. It would be a long process, but Harry was sure it would soften the woman towards him, allow him a few extra liberties in the library compared to others.

Tucking himself away in a corner table, Harry pulled his potions book from his bag and set to work on the foot-long potions essay Snape had assigned. While the other students had complained about the length of the assignment, Harry knew that was only a little longer than one regular sheet of paper. Non-magical education would have had him writing more if he wasn't magical.

Once he had set the illusion, physical not magical, yet, that he was working and didn't want to be bothered, he pulled the article from his pocket and quickly read it through.

Once he was finished reading, Harry quickly ran through its contents in his mind. Nothing had been taken, but the culprit had escaped. The vault mentioned was number 713, and according to the records, it had been legally emptied earlier that day. The goblins had obviously refused to comment on how the theft had been committed and any details really, but Harry could read through the lines.

It wasn't money that was the target, no vault with money worth stealing would have been emptied like was mentioned. Which meant the only thing valuable enough to earn that level of defense and want to steal was a magical artifact of great power.

That meant there were two parties involved with the artifact. The one looking to steal it, and the one that had it placed in Gringotts in the first place and later had it moved.

Obviously one of the parties, the current possessor of the artifact, was Dumbledore. He was the only person Harry could think of that could manage the information that the artifact was under threat and could have it moved in a timely fashion. His information obviously had flaws, as the location of the artifact, down to the vault number, had been leaked out to an unknown party. Unless that was Dumbledore's intention and he was using the artifact as bait.

That thought was quickly used in Harry's mind to answer another question he had been turning over in his mind. The question of the third-floor corridor.

The artifact was the bait, and the corridor was the trap. Dumbledore was looking for someone, someone who wanted the artifact, so he was using it as bait, and carefully revealing its presence at Hogwarts right from the get-go at the opening feast.

Which meant that the thief from Gringotts, the second party, was at the school.

Harry quickly dismissed the students. Unless there was an upper year Slytherin with magical power like a young Voldemort and the ability it as well as Harry hid himself, there was no way a student could break into somewhere as well defended as Gringotts was claimed to be.

Which left the staff, and Harry could already think of a prime suspect. The one staff member who was working to hide themselves. Quirrell.

The man's stutter was a lazy mask, poorly preformed, but enough to throw off the lazy society around him. But not Harry. He could see right through the lazy mask and now had an idea as to what lay behind it.

With those questions answered, Harry turned to his final two questions. What was the artifact Quirrell was so desperate to have, and why did Dumbledore want Harry specifically in on this game of cloak and dagger? What did he want to test in him with this?

The only thing Harry could think of was that Dumbledore wanted him to act. It was possible that Dumbledore wanted Harry to stop Quirrell himself. It was a possible theory, but it didn't feel right to Harry. The other conclusions he had drawn had all seemed to fall into place, like puzzle pieces, but this didn't feel like a simple answer.

Harry just didn't know enough about the headmaster to guess his motives.

That just left the question of just what the artifact was. Perhaps, Harry mused as he tucked away the article and began again on his essay. It might just be the missing piece that he was looking for to answer Dumbledore's motives. And Harry knew of only one way to find out for sure.

He had to go down the rabbit hole, to explore what was hidden in the corridor.

Of course, Harry wasn't ready for this quite yet. Whatever lay hidden there was a trap meant for an adult, and Harry knew he wasn't prepared enough magically to face those challenges.

But he would be. Already he could feel his mask becoming easier to maintain, and his spells flowing easier and easier in class. It might take a few months, but Harry would be ready. Afterall, how could anyone prepare for what they never saw coming.

**Ok, that took a sec. A vacation well spent to wrestle with exactly how I wanted this chapter to be written. I'm trying to keep everything rational keep from straying into an extreme, from either Harry or any character around him. The fact that so many people are taking the time to comment on how well I seem to be doing means so much to me.**

**Next chapter is looking like its going to be intro to Quidditch and some magical training with plenty of Harry's personal dialogue so look forward to it. Might take a week or two, but it'll come.**

**Happy Reading -Centurion Africanus**


	6. Chapter 6

**I don't own HP**

Harry spent almost the entire weekend in the library, finishing any assignment he had left from the week and doing his own research.

The class work was easy, every class except for Potions was catered to the laziness of magic users, which made the work extremely easy for Harry.

As far as his own research, Harry had begun his sweep of the library for any information on illusion magic that he could find.

As he had expected, his search proved wanting. The closest thing he found was the confundus charm, that made the charmed person more susceptible to suggestion and misdirection. A useful spell to be sure, one Harry planned to practice once he had a target, but not what he was looking for.

The only other thing of note was he found copies of the magic theory books he had bought from Flourish and Blotts, except he found them in the section labeled 'Outdated and Disproved'. When he asked an older Ravenclaw what that meant, she had kindly bought his act and answered that the books in that section had once been believed as true, but had since been proved by the Department of Mysteries, which was the Ministry department dedicated to solving the mysteries of magic, to be false.

Harry had thanked the girl and flipped through the books one more time. Everything he had read and tested had been true so far, which left the question of why the books were labeled as false information.

Harry's two theories were that a small detail or two from the books had been proven as false, things like the estimate of Voldemort's power or the speculations about Merlin. Or the government was trying to keep the information from the public by decrying the information. That spoke not only of the laziness that Harry saw so heavily present in magical society, but also of fear. Fear that Harry had only seen associated with Voldemort.

It was the fear of others gaining the information to become stronger themselves, and the Ministry themselves being too lazy to take that power for themselves. By declaring the information as incorrect, rather than decry it as dark, it sent the want for that information down to almost nothing. If it was 'dark and forbidden' it was basically a beacon for people who wanted to misuse the information, and if it was never banned, those who were looking to further themselves, regardless of background, could find it.

It was a clever move, Harry had to admit, one he would never have caught onto if he hadn't stumbled into his copies of the books in the discount section of Flourish and Blotts. It certainly explained why such useful books were there in the first place.

And now that he knew, Harry had an entire section of potentially more useful information to search through between his classes. It was a lesson, or rather the reinforcement of one, to never take information provided and labels given at face value. To question everything. It was a sharp reminder that he too could fall into the trap of laziness that dominated magical culture.

The last thing Harry wanted was to become like Ron Weasley, who he had yet to see lift a finger to do any written work or volunteer to give an answer in class. Although the second might be because Granger seemed determined to recite each textbook verbatim in every class she walked into.

It certainly was gratifying for Harry to see that she was making herself public enemy number one for every first-year student as she tried to suck up to every adult that got within twenty feet of her. She had even begun taking it upon herself to criticize the study habits of others in the common room, even a few older years, and try and force them to study like she did.

Harry could certainly see why she was in Gryffindor instead of Ravenclaw. While she certainly knew how to memorize a textbook, she had absolutely no tact or social graces. She just shoved her knowledge into everyone else's faces, daring for them to comment against her. Very brave when others could hex you in the back when they got sick of it.

Harry would wait for his chance, at this rate it would only take a few weeks, maybe a month, for an opportunity for revenge to present itself. She was almost going out of her way to make it easier for him.

As left the common room for his second week of classes, a commotion near the bulletin board drew him from his musings. Quickly putting on a curious expression, Harry approached the jostling bunch of first years.

At the center of the group were Ron and Seamus, each boasting about their talent at flying. Neville and Granger were both looking rather green, even as Granger read facts straight from the copy of Quidditch through the Ages she was holding, and the rest of the students simply looked excited.

Flying lessons were scheduled for that Friday afternoon instead of their usual free period.

Harry made a mental note to let Hagrid know he would be unable to join him for tea, it was only polite after all.

This was an opportunity for him to completely cement the Gryffindor side of his mask. From What Harry could tell, Quidditch was like a dick measuring contest for the houses.

Aside from the House cup, which was based much more on certain Professors and their tendency to award points with bias, the Quidditch cup was entirely based on the merits of the seven players who participated for each house. And every one who wanted to be popular tried to muscle their way onto their house's team to 'prove themselves'.

While first years were not allowed to own brooms, there was no rule against them playing for the team, they just had to us the broom of an older student or a school broom, which rumor told were old and in dire need of replacement. If Harry could cement a spot on the team, either this year or next, he would be showing everyone that he stood for Gryffindor, competed for them. It would even cement the image of his parents that the adults saw in him. Many of Hagrid's stories about his father started with him doing something on his broom.

Of course, there was the obvious downside of losing time from his research to have to practice, but this would put the finishing touches on his mask. He would address all the broad-spectrum expectations that others had for him. If any random student were asked what he was like, they would say he was studious and good at Quidditch. Professors would comment that he was smart like his mother and athletic like his father, with every bit of their talent. For those closer to him, the ones he shared classes and a dorm with, his mask would eventually shape itself for them through many small interactions. Good mornings over breakfast and small bits of advice while someone was whining about class work. Nothing like Granger did, buts small little drops to let others know he had answers, but not enough that he was shoving them in the faces of others.

It would be a busy week; Harry could already tell. Not in classes, but in maintaining a new excitement in his mask for flying lessons. Not to mention the fact that for his plan to work, he actually had to be good at flying, and fit the needs of the team. From the discussion of the older years, Harry could tell that the only position that needed filling was a seeker, who were usually the best and fastest fliers on the team, working individually from the rest of the team and basically held the game in their hands.

With that in mind, Harry was already planning to show off when he got on a broom on Friday. A quick flip through some books in the library told him of a few sharp maneuvers he could try if he wanted to impress Madame Hooch into talking to someone to let him on the team, but he doubted the hawk-eyed woman would put up with much before demanding everyone stop flying.

It would take a series of fortunate circumstances for him to end up on the team by the end of the team by the end of the weekend, but right now Harry only had bits and pieces of ideas that could grow into that event. Until Friday came, he would be unable to see what opportunities he could manipulate, if there would be any.

And so the waiting game began. Through the week, Harry kept track of those who were most excited for the upcoming flying lessons from each house. While the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs seemed rather subdued, the Gryffindors and Slytherins, specifically Ron and Draco, were extremely vocal in their enthusiasm for the upcoming lesson. It was the first time Harry had seen the Weasley so enthused for anything class related.

Both kept saddling up to each other in the hallways and bragging about the things they had done on their brooms back home .

According to Ron, he had barely escaped a muggle 'fellicopter', while Draco was claiming he regularly flew over the muggle town near his manor and never being seen.

Personally, Harry thought they were both full of shit, but he played along, already mentally preparing to make them both look like idiots when the flying began.

The night before flying lessons were due to begin, Harry slipped down to the Quidditch pitch, wand and unlocking spell ready, to get an early go at the brooms.

Like he expected, everyone was still enjoying dinner, and any others who had the same idea as him would undoubtedly come down after they were done gorging themselves.

Harry stealthily made his way to the broom cupboard and whispered the unlocking spell, giving a true smirk as the lock slid apart and the down swung open softly.

What he was not expecting to find inside was a pair of older years, hands inside each others robes, trying to suck each other's faces off.

Harry quickly slammed his illusion back into place and let his jaw genuinely drop in shock. It only took a few moments before the couple realized they had been found.

The Ravenclaw boy gave what sounded like a squeak of surprise before removing his hands from the girl's chest and sprinted out of the cupboard.

The Hufflepuff girl just gave a sighed as her companion sprinted away, straightening her robe and running a hand through her short choppy locks of blonde hair.

What Harry wasn't expecting was for her hair to turn from blonde to pink as her hand made its way through her hair.

"I'm so smart, no one would ever think to check out here, bloody Raven thinks he has all the answers." She muttered, finally looking fully at Harry, taking in his long shaggy hair hanging over one eye and still dropped jaw.

"Scale of one to ten, how badly are you scared firsty?" She asked, shaking his shoulder lightly.

While Harry knew for a fact he was surprised, he also knew he had gotten over that surprise in seconds. He was simply playing it up a bit now, another way to sell his mask to the older years that wouldn't otherwise interact with him.

"I think seven is a good number." He mumbled out, finally shutting his jaw and letting the girl think she shook him out of his stupor.

"Oh good, nothing serious then. Now here's the deal, you tell no one what you saw and I don't tell anyone that I found a firsty coming down to fly before their first lesson, or that your face is somehow more tan behind those bangs of yours than the rest of your face. Savvy?"

And with that, the girl walked away, sauntering back to the castle, leaving Harry with another genuinely dropped jaw. Quickly shaking it off, Harry rushed into the nearest Quidditch locker room, not bothering to check which house it was meant for, and stared at himself closely in the mirror, pushing his hair out of the way to see his entire face.

After a minute of studying his illusion, Harry concluded the girl was right. It was minor, but the skin tone of his illusion was slightly darker than his natural skin color. Quickly forcing his magic to fix the problem, Harry gave out a sigh of relief as the skin matched perfectly again.

A small miscalculation. Back at the Dursley's he had always had to do yard work in the morning sun, which resulted in him getting a healthy tan on his skin. And for the past two weeks, the only time he had left the castle was for Herbology, and to visit Hagrid for tea. The rest of the time he had spent holed up in the library researching. Of course his skin had gotten paler since he had first used his magic to form his illusion.

The fact that the girl had noticed the small differentiation in skin tone was very impressive, and her casual show of changing her hair color quickly jumped to the top of Harry's list for things to research. The fluidity of her movements and the change matching them went far beyond what Harry could change with his own illusions, if that was what the girl was doing in the first place.

Panic welled in Harry's gut for a moment before logic crushed it back down. An inconsistency was all the girl had noticed, she didn't even know who he was if he was lucky. Not that she couldn't find out easy enough if she asked around. Harry would have to keep an eye out for her in the future.

If he could that is. For all he knew, that girl was like him, always hiding and always changing. And if that was true who knew if she was even in Hufflepuff at all, or even a girl! This was something he was going to have to look into, deeply. Everyone he had met so far and bought his act hook, line, and sinker. But this girl...person..! was an abnormality. Harry would have to find out everything he could about her, how she intended to use Harry's slip up. Because there was no way she was just going to let it go, not if she was like him.

At this very moment Harry was willing to bet she had already changed herself to look him to see how others treated him, if he had that level of talent he certainly would have done so.

He needed a starting point, a loose end that this girl? had left for him, the cowardly Ravenclaw boy.

Harry breathed deeply as he stared at his own illusioned reflection once again. He had been so fast to run Harry had barely seen his face, but he would know him when he saw him. From there it was a simple inquiry to one of the kinder older years and then he would have the loose end ready to pull as he saw fit.

With a plan made, Harry felt his nerves settle and his grip on the counter loosen. The unpredictable was going to happen, and he couldn't allow himself to react that way next time. The girl might have let him go for now, but there would be others in the future who wouldn't. Not the sheep, but others like himself, the girl, Dumbledore. They were different, outliers to the lazy norm. And Harry would prepare for them, for now though, he needed to ensure he could finish the foundation of his mask. The finishing touch to sway the sheep.

Letting the thoughts stew and settle, Harry left the locker room and returned to the closet he had found the couple in. He grabbed a broom and refocused on his original purpose of being at the Quidditch pitch in the first place, seeing if he actually had the talent that many thought he would because of his father.

Walking his way to the center of the pitch, Harry carefully mounted the old school broom, taking care to notice where the cushioning charm was on the handle, the last thing he wanted was to slide down the broom and wind up in a less than comfortable position while he was flying.

Carefully, Harry kicked off the ground and let the broom hold him a few inches off the ground. It felt steady enough, so Harry leaned forward slightly and let the broom fly forward.

It was only moments before Harry let off a wild laugh, completely letting himself go as he began to zip across the sky. Up down, left right. Every movement he made felt natural, the wind flowing in his air, the crescent moon just rising as the sun set, the twinkling lights from the many castle windows.

Not even maintaining his mask felt this easy, this natural.

The only thing Harry could compare to the sensation of flying was when he first found his magic. The roiling sense of freedom that mounted in his stomach when he had first lit his hand alight with blue-green fire, when McGonagall later explained just what he could do.

It was a lightness in his chest that Harry had long thought quashed by the Dursley's. He almost even forgot about the strangely insightful Hufflepuff girl as he dove straight down, pulling up at the last second.

This was every bit of what he expected magic to be when he first learned about it. If this was flying, then it was no wonder everyone was so enthused about the coming lessons. Joining the Quidditch would actually be enjoyable instead of the chore he expected.

Giving a loud genuine laugh, Harry gave one last pass around the pitch, passing by one of the illuminated towers before he set down near the cupboard, almost sad to have to put the broom away, but he knew he'd have to to get away with his 'illegal' night flight.

As Harry slunk back to the castle, he knew that flying lessons weren't going to come fast enough, and that the second he got back to Diagon Alley, he was going to spend however much he had to to get himself a top of the line broom.

Because if that flight was on a 'old and broken' broom, how much better would a flight on the best broom be?

Harry was right that flying lessons wouldn't come fast enough. Both breakfast and Potions dragged on as Harry mentally knew the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were already spending their morning in the air while he was crammed in the dungeons.

The only interesting thing that happened at breakfast, ignoring Weasley's increased boasting, was the Rememberal that Neville had been sent by his grandmother. Harry had seen when Malfoy came up to their table to match stories once again with Ron, but his eyes quickly refocused on the cowardly Neville, and he almost succeeded in taking the small glass orb from the boy when Professor McGonagall came up and made him return it.

That was the piece Harry needed, watching as Neville tucked the glass ball into his robes pocket, likely to be quickly forgotten by the boy. Harry let himself smirk as the plan came together in his head as he walked down into the dungeon. His newfound love of flying, and the inspection he had done of the brooms before he had returned to the castle last night had given him all the pieces he needed. As nice as Neville was, Harry needed him to take one for the team. It was nothing personal, but it needed to happen.

He didn't even have to fake his irritation with Snape as the man sent random and complicated questions from the textbooks his way, each he answered with the book and section he got the information from. And with each answer Snape's sneer grew even deeper until he took points for Harry 'stirring his potion too slow'.

At least potions came with entertainment in the form of Granger wiggling on her stool, hand reaching as high as it could each time Snape asked him or anyone else a question. Personally, Harry wasn't sure what was more satisfying, her disappointed face when Snape never called on her, or the fact that it looked like she REALLY had to use the restroom each time she volunteered.

At long last the potions were finished brewing, thankfully with no near explosions from Neville this time around, and the Gryffindors and Slytherins all dropped their bags off in their dorms before making their way down to the pitch where Madame Hooch was already waiting for them, the brooms lined up in front of her.

Harry was quick to drag Neville up to the front of the pack alongside, ignoring the weak protests of the larger boy.

"Well, what are you waiting for, everyone stand beside a broomstick, come on, hurry up." Madame Hooch barked, her amber hawk-like eyes scanning over the group as they scurried to find a broom.

Harry gave a quick tug on Neville's sleeve, dragging the larger boy to a certain broom he had found the previous night.

It was the oldest of the bunch, its handle was visibly worn and its twigs were beginning to fall out. That matched with Neville's natural clumsiness, and a small push from Harry if need be, would set the stage he needed. He already knew Malfoy and Weasley's arrogance would have them playing their roles with minimal influence from himself.

"Stick your right hand over your broom and say up." Madam Hooch's instructions were clear and her tone was stern. Harry mentally rolled his eyes at the laziness, not even bending down to pick up a broom, and called up to his broom in a confident voice.

The broom jumped right into his hand, smacking his palm with a meaty slap. Harry let a grin form on his face as he felt the rough wood of the broom in his hand once again. He would admit that he was going to thoroughly enjoy this particular act, if only because he would get to fly, with a chance to get a consistent gig for flying in the future.

Unlike Harry, most of his fellow students' brooms didn't fly into their hands, and they were left talking to the pieces of wood.

Of the few that did manage to get their brooms to come, Harry noticed that only he and Ron were the only Gryffindors, and Malfoy was only accompanied by a blonde Slytherin girl.

Granger's broom just weakly rolled around on the ground and Neville's had yet to so much as twitch.

Eventually, when it was clear that no one else's brooms were going to rise into their hands, the majority of the students were instructed by Hooch to just pick them up. Five whole minutes spent trying to find a lazy answer to a simple problem. Harry just added it to his already staggeringly high mental tally of idiocy he had seen since McGonagall had first introduced him to the wizarding world.

Madam Hooch then walked up and down the aisle of students, correctly grips as they stood on the ground, broom between their legs.

Harry partook in a big smile when she complimented his own grip, while correcting every other student in the group. Both Malfoy and Weasley had been doing it wrong for years according to her, which left both of them with small sneers pointed at the professor's back.

"Alright then, when I blow my whistle, you are going to kick off the ground hard, float in the air for a few seconds to get a feel for it, and come straight down. On the count of three. One Two. Thr ..."

Madam Hooch never got to finish her count down as nervous Neville had given a soft jump early and his broom began to rise, and continued to rise despite the boy's obvious struggles to get the broom to listen to him.

Harry watched with a fake expression of concern, tucking his wand once again up his sleeve where it was held to his wrist by a torn piece of cloth. Wand holster for his forearm had quickly reached near the top of his 'to buy' list, right after the best broom he could find and anything related to illusions.

Neville flew in circles for several seconds before his confundused and aged broom gave one last burst of speed and sent him into the castle wall, letting him fall two stories before he landed on the ground in a heap, a sharp snap sounding off when he landed.

His wrist and shoulder if Harry had to guess based on his landing. Chocolates in the infirmary sounds about right for get well gift, they probably weren't close enough for a card just yet.

"Broken wrist." Harry heard Hooch mutter as she bent over the pale boy. "None of you are to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing. If any of you get the idea to go flying without supervision, you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say Quidditch."

And with that said, Madam Hooch drew her wand and levitated Neville off the pitch and walked up to the castle with him trailing behind her, unmoving as he curled around his broken wrist.

And left behind where Neville fell, was his rememberal. Perfect.

"Did you see his fat face as he fell." Right on que, Malfoy began his taunting as he strolled up to where Neville had fallen, clearly having already seen where the rememberal rested on the grass. The broom he was using was held lightly in one hand, resting on his shoulder as he strutted forward.

"And look, he dropped his little trinket. I think I'll leave it somewhere nice for him, how about up a tree, and a tower roof." And with a one handed grip, Malfoy mounted his broom and began to float into the air, doing lazy circles as he rose in the air.

"Give that back Malfoy." Weasley protested, mounting his own broom once again and kicking off the ground towards the cocky Slytherin.

Harry almost let the two duel it out in the air, but he had a part to play in this act. Letting his wand once again fall into his hand, Harry once again whispered the confundus charm, this time aimed at the rider instead of the broom, letting the invisible spell collide with Weasley's back.

As Ron rose in the air, he gave a sudden swerve left and wound up crashing through rows of the Quidditch stands.

Harry grinned, the Slytherins were once again roaring in laughter and Malfoy's arrogance and overconfidence would be at an all time high.

"You really should give it back Malfoy, it is Neville's." Harry called up to the laughing boy, who refocused on Harry in an instant. Harry already knew what was going through his head. Bullies were so predictable like that. He had puffed up Malfoy's ego, enough for him to only remember the past sting of 'defeat' Harry had dealt him, not how he had been dealt those defeats. Harry doubted Malfoy even suspected for a second that Harry had dragged the pureblood boy onto his battle field and beaten him before Malfoy even knew his surroundings had changed. And he was doing it again.

"You might know more spells than me Potter, but let's see how you do once you get your head out of the books and into the sky." Malfoy taunted, exactly as Harry expected he would.

Tucking his wand once again firmly up his sleeve, Harry jumped on his broom, ignoring the protests from Granger and took to the skies.

The sensation of freedom once again filled Harry as the wind rushed into his face, blowing his long bangs back. He was done with wand work for now, his illusion would be all the magic he needed to end this confrontation.

Giving into the urge rising in his stomach, Harry did a large loop that turned him upside down as he rose to meet the paling blonde.

"I think I'll take that back now Malfoy." Harry said, positioning himself so that Malfoy was between himself and the castle.

Malfoy was caught now, clearly put off by the ease Harry flew up to meet him. And like every bully who was caught, he was going to try and throw someone else under the bus, and Harry had just made himself a prime target.

"Hope you can catch then." Malfoy said with a smirk, winding up and hurling the little glass ball towards the castle.

Harry smirked as he took off towards the castle, thankful that whoever built the Quidditch had the forethought to only make it a stones throw from the castle proper, otherwise this would all be for naught.

According to the older years, no one had McGonagall during Friday afternoons. Which meant she was in her office. Her office that had a large window pointing right at the Quidditch. And considering what he had learned of the Scottish woman's love of the game, Harry knew she would be watching.

Throwing on an extra burst of speed as the ball neared the castle wall, Harry darted forward, catching the rememberal barely seconds before it would have collided with the castle wall.

Instead of stopping on a dime like he knew he could, Harry leaned forward in a dive towards the ground and then up as he almost reached it, leaving him skimming the ground upside down with one hand controlling the broom and the other firmly clutching Neville's little trinket.

Rememberal and chocolates at Neville's bedside then.

Harry flipped himself right side up again, landing softly and holding up the ball for the Gryffindors to see, which they cheered at loudly. All but Granger, who looked positively furious at him, and Weasley, who was still recovering in the stands.

Harry could also see Malfoy's smirk directed behind him, where he was certain McGonagall was storming towards the group, clearly thinking he was oh-so-smart for getting Harry in 'trouble'.

How useful a bully could be when they were used properly.

"Mr. Potter! Never in all my years… Follow me, immediately!" McGonagall shouted, her accent strong in her voice as her anger was clear.

Harry gave a nod and put on the effort to look worried, his hands 'clenched' around both the rememberal, which was glowing red instead of the white that it had been before, and the broom he had ridden on.

Harry followed McGonagall as she blustered back to the castle, Harry following dutifully behind her as she angrily muttered under her breath. Harry was almost worried until he heard McGonagall say his father's name. That sealed the deal for him.

McGonagall made her way up to the fourth floor and loudly opened Quirrell's room. Inside Harry could see a class of older years and the turbaned stutterer holding a large iguana.

"If you don't mind Professor, I'd like to borrow Wood for a moment." McGonagall said, her voice once again under control. Even Harry was impressed at how fast she had composed herself, even he hadn't detected any anger voice.

"Of c-course." Quirrel stuttered, making a shooing motion to a student with the hand that wasn't occupied by a reptile. Harry did briefly wonder what use it could possibly have before a well built brown haired boy exited the room and faced both McGonagall and Harry with a questioning look on his face.

"Mr. Potter, this is Oliver Wood, Wood, I've found you a seeker."

Ah, Harry loved it when a plan came together. One down, oh so many more to go.

**Ok, that went well, and a little off of what I had planned. The entire scene with Tonks, yes it was Tonks, was completely unplanned, but was written so easily. I got to make a character say savvy and it fit. Her abilities would definitely catch Harry's interest and while she is nowhere near the manipulator Harry's paranoia is creating, having them interact in the future is definitely in the cards. **

**The two biggest critiques I've gotten have revolved around me just rewriting the books with Slytherin Harry monologue, and how Harry is so good at manipulating people. **

**Both are things I am trying to keep in check, but there is a reason for them. I've always noticed how isolated the different age groups are at Hogwarts, and compared to the average 11 year old, Harry is a genius. But that has a lot more to do with forced maturity than anything. He is used to surviving under Dudley and the Dursleys, so turning a petty bully like Draco into something he can make use of to thrive is something I can see Harry doing. **

**Is it coming to him to easily right now, yes, will it get harder, oh so much harder. **

**For the other critique, I have a plan. I'm trying to write like the butterfly effect. One small change, causes big consequences. Harry is that small change, but he hasn't made enough overt changes to really change how others would act, he has actively avoided it in fact. But, as many have guessed, that is going to change when Halloween rolls around, which will be in a chapter or two. **

**That will be the first of several big divergence points, Luna being another come the next book and a few more after that. While it is starting slow for now, The end result is going to be massively different from canon. And for once, I haven't ruined myself with my prewriting. I haven't planned in detail to the very end, which makes me not want to continue because I already know what is going to happen, nor have I been so vague that I wind up writing a bunch of random filler crap. See, book five time chink in Magical Sense. **

**And yes Harry is a bit of a jerk. He really doesn't care what happens to others as long as they don't threaten him, only if they can be of use to him.**

**Hope you all are doing well as the summer heat continues. And review, follow and fav if you think I'm worthy :P**

**Happy Reading -Centurion Africanus**


	7. Chapter 7

**GAH! Don't know what happened with that chapter but thanks to everyone that PMed me about it. I blame technology.**

**I don't own HP**

Quidditch, Harry decided, was no where near as fun as flying itself. How wizards managed to turn something truly magical like flying, into a game that was completely unbalanced and resulted in a multitude of unnecessary head injuries.

Sure, practices were enjoyable enough when he just flew around the pitch as fast and wild as the school brooms would allow him to, but actually catching the snitch was a much more difficult task than Harry had first anticipated.

The tiny gold ball seemed to always be resting in the blind spot on his right side, taunting him as he flew around the pitch. Wood had even come up to Harry and explained, to what he thought was a little firsty who misunderstood the point of practice, that he was supposed to catch and release the snitch over and over again as practice went on.

Harry had just rolled his eye and told the boy he would, but that he thought getting to the snitch first was more important and more difficult part of the process. Wood had reluctantly agreed, but Harry knew he better find a way to catch the damn ball in a real game or Wood would be all over his case.

The only upside Harry could see in the situation was he was now increasingly aware that his blind spot, previously discounted because it never seemed to hinder him, was a weak point that could be exploited if others learned of it.

Which brought Harry back to one of his long-term goals, one he had forgotten as he got caught up in the wonder that was magic.

Resolving his missing eye.

He didn't mean simply getting a transplant and walking away, he wanted total closure of the matter. It was a realization he came to when his hatred for Granger flared as the girl finally turned to lecture him about his actions on the Quidditch pitch.

Granger, the Dursleys, and himself. Each had to be addressed in their own time, and in different ways, but until all three were settled, Harry could feel he wouldn't ever be able to put the event behind him.

It wasn't nightmares or anything dramatic like that, it was his routine. Every action he took, every spell he learned, it all revolved around keeping his empty socket hidden. It had given him, and he realized the pun, blinders. He couldn't truly focus and grow until he wasn't watching his every step, perpetually aware that one false step would open a can of worms he didn't want opened.

Sure, he could use his celebrity status and get the wizards here to give him a replacement and lock up the Dursleys, but that wasn't what he wanted. To tattle to big brother Ministry and Dumbledore and let them fix the problem. This was his situation, and he would find the solution himself.

And he wasn't sure he trusted the perpetually lazy wizarding community with something as important as his eye.

So he would wait, and he would look, as best he could, until he found a situation that worked for him. Already he had shifted his focus in his library research less into spell work and more into both the medical and law fields.

And once he had this resolved, he would find himself wanting for a new purpose, a new goal, and he would chase that with the same single-minded determination that allowed him to survive life with only one eye.

Putting those thoughts aside, Harry turned his mind onto the upcoming holiday. Halloween was only a week away, and with it, came the need to put on a show.

There was any number of ways he could show to the world. He could go on smiling, still to young to truly understand what the holiday was to him and just let himself be caught in the celebration. Or he could go to the other extreme and go hermit for a day. It would be a happy vacation from the hubbub of Hogwarts, a mask piece present without him ever having to be present to display it.

But if he just went with the celebration, he would seem insensitive, and if he vanished and missed classes, he'd end up in detention. And while Flitwick might let him 'mourn' for the day, Binns was well renown for assigning detentions to empty desks, and he always assigned them to Filch, not a pleasant thought for Harry.

While he was sorting through his options, Harry stumbled on the conclusion that maybe, for once, his true feeling would serve as his mask.

Harry didn't know James or Lily; despite the many stories he had been told about them. Despite how he used their memories to defend himself. To him, it was his parents protecting him even after they were long gone, every piece of their legacy he had access too he used, because they had decided he was worth more than themselves.

Harry didn't know how he survived that Halloween, sure he could come up with broad theories, but he wouldn't know the first place to start on any of them except for broad fields.

His parents had chosen to die that night instead of him, and that was all Harry needed to know. There was no bitterness, no longing, no love for the two who had birthed him. Just respect.

Others saw Halloween as a day to celebrate the defeat of Voldemort, but for Harry, he would take it as a day to respect those who ensured he was alive, both in public and privately.

He wouldn't join in the festivities, nor would he shut himself away. Neither would be mature and both would have consequences. He would be there, taking it in, watching the joy that so many lives bought.

It was simple and required no additional acting on Harry's part. He would just…be.

And with a moment of peace in his thoughts, Harry drifted off to sleep, not even practicing his magic that night. But everyone needs a break sometimes.

The next week of classes flew by for Harry, just a pattern of going through the motions and maintaining his mask. 'Competing' with Draco, 'helping' Neville, and a great deal of watching Granger.

She was close to having a breakdown, Harry could read the signs easy enough. She was less and less eager to offer answers in class, she didn't even speak to the older students anymore, much less criticize their study habits, and she seemed more and more exhausted each morning, the bags under her eyes pointed to her having trouble sleeping. Perhaps in an attempt to study even further 'ahead', or simply because she was that unhappy, Harry didn't know.

All he knew was Granger was breaking slowly and is gave him pleasure to no end.

The morning of Halloween, Harry just sat back and watched as his classmates all gorged themselves on a larger and sugary breakfast than usual.

He watched as his fellow students joked and talked amongst themselves instead of their usual naps in History of Magic as Binns droned on, and he again watched at lunch as everyone, even the Slytherins, joked and laughed amongst themselves. It was like a tension had been let out of the castle.

It was…different. Not a bad different, but just, different. It was almost like a truce had been called for the day. The Gryffindors weren't calling out the Slytherins, the Slytherins weren't taunting the Gryffindors, the Ravenclaws had set aside their research, and the Hufflepuff pack seemed to have expanded across the entire hall.

And up at the head table sat Dumbledore, wearing a set of bright purple robes with sparkly jack-o-lanterns, a twinkle in his eyes and a satisfied smile on his face has he ate directly from a large bowl of pudding.

Harry knew enough about social manipulations to know he was witnessing years of Dumbledore's hard work, from a perspective he doubted any besides the man himself saw.

He remembered reading somewhere about how in World War II, a ceasefire was called without any negotiations on Christmas day, and both sides enjoyed a day of rest. It had sounded ridiculous to him at the time, but now he could see, if only a little, how that particular event came to pass.

So Harry watched as the day continued, as even Malfoy and his older, more brutish self, Marcus Flint, seemingly set aside whatever opinion they had about the other students. A herculean achievement to be sure, especially considering both families were suspected to be firmly entrenched in Voldemort's side.

Charms continued as normal, with Flitwick starting them on the levitation charm today.

Harry, having long since mastered the spoken version of the spell, quickly made a show of examining the textbook before 'rehearsing' the wand motions and mouthing the incantation.

A few rows behind him, he could hear both Weasley's and Finnegan's attempt at the spell, which included poor enunciation from Ron and a jabbing motion instead of the required soft flick from Seamus. Both would only be exploding their feathers today, if that.

"Oh no, you're pronouncing it all wrong, its Levi-OH-sa not leviosah." Granger corrected Weasley, looking down on the red head from both her higher row seat and sense of superiority.

"Well let's see you do it then if you're so smart." Ron challenged her, to which Granger drew her own wand and performed the spell perfectly, letting the feather slowly rise up before releasing the spell when it neared the ceiling.

"Oh well done, well done indeed. Look everyone, Ms. Grangers done it. Well done indeed, 10 points to Gryffindor." Flitwick said in his high peppy voice, the cheer of the day affecting him just as much as it did some of the students.

"Showoff…" Weasley trailed off, turning back to his own feather while next to him, Finnegan's jabs had become more aggressive and frequent, resulting in a small explosion that left the feather charred and the Irish boy's face covered in ash.

Harry chuckled along with the rest of the class at the explosion prone boy before returning his focus to the task at hand. With a display of wand motion and wording, Harry performed the spell, carefully controlling his feather as it rose. He even showed off a little by having it drift from side to side a little.

"Well done Mr. Potter, five points for you as well." Flitwick said before turning his focus to the Hufflepuff half of the class.

While Harry was pleased with his act for the class, he couldn't help but be annoyed by the 'superior' smirk Granger had sent at him when she had performed the spell before he did, and again when Flitwick assigned him less points than he did her.

By now, word had spread about his and Draco's 'challenges' about who knew more spells, and Harry could tell Granger was planning on making her own entrance into the 'contests' soon enough. That the girl so obsessed with pleasing the professors to get caught up in a school yard dick measuring competition like this meant she was desperate for any scrap of friendship she could get, no matter what she had to do to get it.

Harry would have to plan ahead for when she butted her way into the Gryffindor Slytherin rivalry he had formed with Draco. Knowing a desperate plea for positive attention when he saw one, Harry was sure Granger would wait for one of his and Draco's 'showdowns' before butting in herself when she already knew she could beat both of them in an attempt to get people to like her, or at least not hate her as much as they did right now.

And Harry hated to admit it would probably work, for a short time anyway. The sheep would follow the loudest voice, and if that proved to be Granger, then they'd follow her, at least until someone else took back the title of 'biggest dick'.

What would one call a girl in a metaphorical dick measuring contest, or maybe it was changed to a boob measuring contest?

Shaking the thought from his head, Harry heard Flitwick dismiss the class and left the class, walking alongside Neville and behind the louder trio of Gryffindor boys.

"Its Levi-OH-sa, not leviosah. The girl's a nightmare honestly, its no wonder she doesn't have any friends." Weasley complained loudly as he was wont to do whenever given half the opportunity. Today, Granger was the target of his annoyance.

Even as the thought passed through his head, the girl in question pushed her way from behind Harry and past Weasley, her head in her hands and distinct sob noises coming from behind them.

"I think she heard you mate." Dean told Ron, a look of unease on his face. Of all of the Gryffindor first years, Dean was the only one Harry had yet to get a solid read for. He was too busy figuring out his place as a muggle born in the wizarding world for Harry to pay him much attention yet. That aside, it was clear that the red head's treatment of Granger rubbed him the wrong way, but he was just going to look the other way, take the lazy route.

"Doesn't matter if she did, not like anyone cares." Ron brushed off the boy's concern as the trio continued down to the great hall for dinner.

Granger's misery was the cherry on the sundae of a day Harry had been having this Halloween.

As dinner began and the day's festivities came to head in a sugar packed and thematic meal, complete with live bats fluttering about the rafters and Jack-o-lanterns carved from the giant pumpkins Hagrid had been growing, Harry couldn't help but feel something wasn't quite right.

Today he had let his guard down, if only a little, and by the universe's law of fucking with people, that meant something was going to happen.

"Did you hear about Hermione?" Lavender Brown stage whispered across the table to her usual partner in gossip crime, Parvati Patil.

"Yeah, one of the older years said they heard her crying her eyes out in the abandoned second floor bathroom, she's been there since charms ended. Poor girl."

Here Harry had to keep his face from visibly showing his joy at Granger's apparent misery. There were very few people he truly wished ill will upon, but Granger was near the top of that very short list. And once Harry decided that someone was on that list, they stayed on it until Harry felt like he had gotten his pound of flesh.

He wasn't violent, he didn't get revenge, he was patient, and he got even.

And it was because of that patience that he was only going to sit back and enjoy Granger's misery of her own making before he took measures into his own hands. It wouldn't do for him to fall into the trap of trying to be a super villain.

Harry smiled as the girls continued their gossip, helping himself to another slice of pumpkin pie as the night of truce continued.

A truce that was loudly interrupted by Professor Quirrell bursting into the hall, panting and flailing as he ran to the center of the room.

"TROLL! IN THE DUNGEONS! I just thought you ought to know." And with that, the turbaned man passed out in a heap where he stood, apparently fainting.

As the hall erupted in chaos, Harry stayed glued to his seat, a thousand thoughts flashing through his head. If he could do this, if he could pull this off, it would be perfect. It was going to require every bit of magical skill and practice he had, as well as a fair bit of luck, but this was his chance.

Granger had unknowingly made herself a target years ago, and now Harry planned on getting exactly what he was owed.

A great boom echoed through the hall, its origin being Dumbledore, who had risen from his seat at the head table, any remnant of the dopey grandfather now firmly removed from his mask.

"Prefects, lead your classmates to your common rooms, take side passages too small for the troll when you can. Staff, follow me to the dungeons." Dumbledore barked out, already beginning his stride out of the hall.

Crouching slightly, Harry forced as much of a blur illusion over himself as he could before he melded into the crowd. If anyone saw him now, all they would see is a blur that vaguely resembled a rushing person. And with it in place, he was easily able to slip through the rushing crowds and out to the side corridor that lead from the dungeon to the great hall.

If Harry was correct, when Quirrell found the troll, he would have most likely screamed, drawing the troll attention before he fled the fastest way he could to the great hall. While the rest of the staff would be trying to get into the deepest parts of the dungeons, Harry knew enough about trolls from his talks with Hagrid to know that they were aggravated by loud sounds, and that it most likely would have followed after Quirrell.

And that would put it right in front of him.

Harry withheld any feeling of fear as he stared down the 12 foot, grey-skinned, club wielding mountain troll. He had a plan. Stay ahead, stay smarter. Only resort to spells as a last resort.

"OI!" Harry called, his voice slightly blurred by his illusion much to his own surprise, something to look into another time. "Over here you great brute!" Harry called, before talking a jog as the troll lumbered after him, growling in displeasure at the loud insect in front of him.

Keeping as far from the troll while still ensuring it was following behind him, Harry led the troll up a flight of stairs and straight to the abandoned second floor girl's bathroom.

Taking note of the already cracked door, Harry softly pushed it wider before sending a volley of stinging spells at the troll's face.

Most of the spells flew true, a few splashing harmlessly against the stone of the corridor as the troll bellowed in annoyance and began a charge forward.

Nimbly playing bull fighter, Harry dove to the side as the troll slammed its way into the bathroom, steaming mad and with a victim already waiting for it inside.

Harry smirked as he gave a quick flourish of his wand and wordlessly pulled the door closed behind the troll. It took every bit of restraint Harry had to keep from adding a locking or sticking spell to the door, but he had to prevent any of this from being tied back to him, for the troll to seem like an unfortunate accident. With his task complete, Harry gave a wicked smile, the torch light shadowing his missing eye as his illusion fell from the spell work.

She had left him, trapped and alone with a rampaging brute that had no regard for his life. He had survived and grown on his own merits, his own abilities.

And now he left her in the same situation that he had been in. It wasn't cruelty, it wasn't revenge, it was equal.

And with his work done, Harry quickly tucked his wand away and forced his blur illusion back up as he dashed away to reach the Gryffindor common room before anyone noticed he was missing.

Whether Granger lived or died was out of his hands now. If he had to guess, it would be 10 minutes before the professors reacted and reached the bathroom. More than enough time for Harry's purposes.

As he finally reached the common room and slipped inside, the feeling of misfortune he'd had earlier returned full force.

How had the troll gotten in, and why was Quirrell in the dungeons instead of at the feast?

The answer was obvious, but it left a much more important question.

Why?

**And done, boom, trying to deviate from canon much more extremely. I know it's followed pretty closely so far, but this is where the change happens, or begins to. Harry has a goal, short term at least, he has steps forward, and he has a distraction out of the way. For those wanting more info about Harry's motives, wait til Christmas, in the story not actual Christmas. **

**I'm going to be on major vacation for the next two weeks, wrote this entirely on the plane actually, so how much writing I get done is up in the air. I could be writing every day, or not at all. And considering the beaches here, I'm leaning towards very little. **

**A big thanks to the very nice reviewers from last chapter, can't really check on the plane, but you know who you are, and a thanks to the harsh critics who are keeping me from doing too much canon following and other plot points I might have missed. Author blindness and all that. **

**Happy Reading -Centurion Africanus**


	8. Chapter 8

**I don't own HP**

It was morning when Dumbledore stood and gave the announcement.

"As I am sure you all know, last night a troll got into the castle." He started, his tone was soft, and for once his robes were a muted color instead of the bright sparkly options he had worn up to this point. "Before the Professors were able to apprehend the beast, it cornered and injured a student. Upon consulting with her parents, it was decided that the student in question would stay at home to recover before looking for different options for her education. If anyone has information about how the troll managed to find its way into the castle, I encourage you to come forth and share, a promising young witch was injured, and that is something I would wish to avoid in the future. Thank you." And with that said, Dumbledore sat back down and drank a cup of tea in front of him at a sedate pace.

While the rest of the hall broke out into whispers, with Granger's identity as the injured party quickly spreading from the Gryffindor table, Harry kept his eye on the headmaster.

All the joy that he had worn the previous day was absent from his face. In its place was a weariness that seemed to define his very person. Dumbledore just looked….old.

He was quickly from his moment of contemplation as Professor McGonagall reached over to him and handed him a letter in a light-blue envelope. And just as fast as it appeared, the weariness faded back into his wrinkles, and Harry could see what he thought was a fake chuckle on Dumbledore's lips.

"What do you think Harry, we finally got rid of Granger, maybe we should hold a party in the dorm tonight yeah?" Weasley cut off his thoughts, already gorging himself on breakfast.

Having already planned his reaction, Harry was quick to respond.

"I don't think that's really a good idea Ron, I mean, sure Hermione was annoying, but that's not any reason to celebrate her getting really hurt, maybe we could send her a get-well card or something." Harry pitched, knowing the thought wouldn't gain much traction with Granger's reputation before her 'accident'. Just as he suspected, most of the table shut the idea down with muted grumbles, but the voice that spoke up caught Harry off guard.

"I think that's a good idea Harry, we could even use my family owl."

Neville Longbottom, the perpetually nervous boy, was actively speaking out against the rest of the Gryffindor crowd. Sure, it might be because Harry pitched the idea first, but he still spoke up and defied the rest.

"Thanks Nev." Harry replied, mentally gritting his teeth. Now he actually had to write the blasted card for Granger, but with his actions last night, they were even. He wouldn't wish any further ill will on the girl. He doubted he would ever like her, or even see her again, but she was no longer an 'enemy'.

Pulling a bit of parchment from his bag as breakfast finished up, Harry quickly scrawled a quick meaningless 'get well soon' message and passed it to Neville. "Here, you can write your bit then see if anyone else wants to add something nice. Once it's full you said your owl could take it?" Harry asked, putting the pressure of the table onto the pudgy boy.

"I can do that Harry." For a split-second Harry could see why Neville had been sorted into Gryffindor. His gaze in that moment had been unflinching and firm, nothing like the nervous wreck that usually followed Harry like a lost puppy.

But then that second was over, and Neville tripped as he made to stand from the table, and face planted into what was left of his breakfast. While the rest of the Gryffindor first years dissolved into laughter, Harry took a moment to reassess Neville.

He was still the nervous wreck that he had always been, his stuttering as he cleaned the food off his face and robes attested to that, but Harry could see his potential to grow into more. The word potential sprung to mind as Neville shuffled away, clutching the get-well-soon card. Sure, he wasn't much now, but Harry could now see that Neville could become something much bigger, if he was allowed the opportunity to do so.

Maybe that was everyone around him, Harry mused, maybe that's how Dumbledore and the Sorting Hat saw each student that first entered the great hall. But for right now, Harry had only seen any sort of potential from Neville, not from any of the others. At the very least, it reaffirmed his choice to allow Neville to tag along behind him. As both part of his mask, but now also as someone who had caught his interest.

Harry refocused as the rest of his classmates followed Neville's example and began heading to their first class that day. He would have time to ponder later. He had research ahead of him, and hopefully it would be more fruitful now that the distraction of Granger had been removed.

Several weeks passed with little to no results, on any front. While his mask stayed steady, Harry also was making little to no progress with either his research or his illusion practice.

None of the medical books he had read mentioned regrowing a removed organ. There was plenty about repairing a damaged one, or even reinserting a missing one if the original organ was still on hand, but nothing about regrowing one long since removed. If his eye had only been damaged, the answer would be simple, but Vernon had somehow managed to carve out his entire eye, and even a few of the optical nerves were missing according to the basic diagnostic charms Harry had used when he examined his wound in the abandoned second floor bathroom. Even a muggle transplant would be more difficult, if not impossible, because of it.

The best solution was actually a mix of the two. Using magic to repair the nerves before getting a muggle transplant of a new eye.

But even that had a problem. Not with the procedure itself, but with the end result.

His combing through the 'disproved' section in the library had been enlightening. There were almost no actual spells in the books there, but rather, an abundance of conflicting theories about the nature of magic, and how and why witches and wizards were able to use it.

The theory Harry found most believable at the moment was written by a muggle-born wizard turned scientist. He had found that magic was produced from the body, and that each person's magic differed because of it. Of course, when Harry had looked for further reading, he found an old newspaper that told of the author's imprisonment in Azkaban for 'committing dark experiments looking for the source of magic'. Although from what he could read, Harry was inclined to believe those 'experiments' were simple things like a microscope and some other technology that wizards had no knowledge of.

The problem this theory pointed out was in the replacement eye. If he used a muggle eye, it wouldn't have magic, which would make it 'weaker' than his regular eye. It was well documented at muggles were unable to comprehend seeing certain magical beings like dementors and lethifolds. And that was not a weakness Harry wished to have. Using another magical's eye would negate that weakness, but his eye would then contain someone else's magic, which could have extremely negative effects on his body and his magic. Unless he found someone with a near perfect... resonance seemed like the right word... to his own magic, he could wind up seriously hindering his own growth, not something he was willing to risk.

So he was at a dead end until he could find something else. How Vernon had managed to cause so much damage while so completely drunk, Harry had no idea, but he cursed the man for it. It made it much more difficult to fix.

As for his magic, Harry was making small steps.

He was remembering to keep his mask up to date with his paling appearance as the weather gradually turned colder and the days cloudier, as well as keeping an eye on the pink haired Hufflepuff, which seemed to be her…his…their most common disguise. They hadn't approached him since that day and he was still observing, but the lack of action taken against him had taken the edge off his worry. He would continue to watch her, but until she took action against him, he was content with just watching.

He was finally starting to a firm enough grip on his magic that he could hold his mask while casting spells…partially.

It was actually a bit worse than just failing outright. The illusion would flicker the instant he cast before snapping back into place, leaving a split second where his scar could be seen while he was casting. The sudden change drew attention to his face, more so than just having the mask fall and stay down as he cast. It also made the casting harder since his focus was divided. By the end of the year, Harry was sure he'd be able to cast each spell verbally with his mask completely in place, and the others nonverbally, but he was uncertain if his mask would hold.

His more advanced illusions were sadly not making much progress. He was years away from casting anything from the old tome he found and while the confundus was useful, it was a distraction, not a knockout punch. He was well on his way to perfecting his blur illusion, but that would only be useful in crowds. His invisibility and camouflage ones had a ways to go before Harry was confident they would hold under scrutiny. For the camouflage he was trying to have his magic visually project his surroundings instead of his normal appearance. And the invisibility was more like a notice-me-not charm instead of the far more complex disillusionment charm. And while he could eventually learn both charms, knowing them as wandless illusions meant he was free to cast other spells once he had mastered them, and he could get them up faster than he would if he was using his wand.

He was however, making good headway into his disguise illusions. He could make a fairly convincing Weasley or Longbottom but getting every detail right was a lot of work. But it was enough for what he had planned tonight.

Once the rest of his dorm mates had fallen asleep, Harry slipped down to the common room, letting the face of Ron Weasley form over his own. He was even wearing a stolen pair of the boys maroon pajamas. The only noticeable difference between the two of them was Ron was slightly taller than Harry was, but the difference was only noticeable when the two were next to each other. All adults thought younger kids were short, and that was their thoughts on the matter, everyone below a certain height to them was all the same. It was an assumption Harry was more than willing to take advantage of.

Harry, disguised as Ron, snuck out of the common room, making sure to leave the fat lady's portrait cracked open slightly so he could get back in without needing to wake the sleeping figure within.

Quickly making his way down one of the smaller side stairways, Harry quickly made his way to the abandoned third floor corridor, making sure to stay OUT of the main stairwell, where most of the professors and prefects patrolled, looking for students out of bed.

Slipping through the dust filled hallway, Harry quickly made his way to the only door without dust filling its entryway.

Finding it, predictably, locked, Harry risked a glance around before drawing his wand. This would be risky, but he had to find out what was on the other side, to understand why Dumbledore was leading him here.

A quick unlocking charm and Harry, now completely illusionless, slipped into the room, shutting the door behind him so no one would know he had been here.

Only to come face to face with a large, snarling, three headed dog.

That... was not what Harry had been expecting.

In the split second he had, Harry mentally ran through every bit of magic he knew he could cast. Most of his illusions were useless because they changed his appearance and the dog could still smell him. He didn't have enough control yet to levitate something as big as the mutt in front of him and all the other class spells were useless.

Which left him with one answer.

"Confundo." Harry cast, pointing his wand at the middle head.

The effect was almost instantaneous. Like Harry suspected, the center head was bigger for a reason, probably responsible for most of the cerberus's fine motor control. And when it got confused, all kinds of signals got crossed.

The Cerberus stumbled as it tried to approach Harry, its legs shaking as it took each step. The two side heads were barking at the center head, which looked almost drunk to Harry. Quickly backing away, Harry slipped back out the door and into the hallway, relocking it and throwing up his Weasley illusion again before anyone that might be passing by could identify him.

Quickly making his way back to the common room, Harry ran through everything he knew about the Cerberus. Greek mythology's guardian of the underworld, pet of Hades, and child of Echidna and Typhon.

Only Hercules and Orpheus notably made their way past it. Hercules capturing it with raw strength and Orpheus by soothing it with song. Neither were skills Harry had. He was nowhere strong enough to wrestle with the behemoth of a dog and he had absolutely no talent with music.

And with the conventional solutions unavailable, that left him with his go to, illusions. The confundus had clearly only affected the prime head of the dog, so he use something that affected all 3 heads at once to sneak past, otherwise the unaffected heads would aid the affected ones.

Harry slipped into the common room, already planning what his approach would be. He'd have to research the Cerberus, Harry knew it was less magically resistant than the troll, but it still had some level of protection against spells, like most powerful magical creatures did. The only reason the confundus had worked so well was because it targeted the mind, and because of its animal intelligence, the Cerberus wasn't as protected. Whether this would apply for further illusions Harry would have to find out. He wouldn't go in with a plan only to have it blow up in his face, that just wasn't how he worked.

With his plans stewing in his head, Harry closed the curtains around his bed and prepared to fall asleep. As he was drifting off, Harry vaguely remembered that his first Quidditch match was the following day.

Well, he had yet to catch the snitch in practice, which meant he had quite the task cut out for him the next morning if he wanted to prove himself as a 'Gryffindor' again.

Ah, the things he did for his mask.

At least he had the new broom McGonagall had gotten for him.

* * *

After breakfast the following morning, he followed the rest of the team down to the Quidditch pitch. Wood leading, flanked by the three chasers and tailed by the Weasley twins with Harry in the middle of them all. From what he'd heard from the older years, they had the youngest team in the school, Wood was the oldest in 5th year. Every other team had at least one seventh year and more sixth and fifth years. Gryffindor was the only house team made mostly of third years, the twins and 2 of the chasers.

Harry tuned out Wood as he gave some kind of speech, choosing instead to once again examine his new broom. McGonagall had really gone all out for him. He'd heard the youngest Weasley boy praising it as the fastest currently on the market. Regardless of if it was or not, Harry very much enjoyed zooming across the pitch at much higher speeds than he did before.

Following the team out to the pitch, Harry was quick to tune out the crowd and kicked off the ground as Madam Hooch prepared to throw the opening quaffle.

Once she had, Harry took off like a bullet. Carving through the air and swerving tightly through the other players on both teams as he did so. He only just managed to hold in a whoop of joy as he did a corkscrew loop-de-loop around the Slytherin seeker.

Harry could just make out Lee Jordan, the announcer of the match, saying something, but Harry ignored him in favor of flying as recklessly as he could without falling, all the while keeping his good eye peeled for the snitch, keeping his head on a swivel to try and compensate for the missing organ.

It was twenty minutes of wild flying into the match, in which Gryffindor seemed to be doing well, using Harry's insane flying as a disruptor for the chasers to better maneuver, that Harry noticed something was _off _with his broom. It was fighting him on some of his turns and he could feel it almost bucking on the straight aways.

Harry wasn't sure what to do, but he knew better than to let it show that something was wrong, so he kept flying and reached out with his magic towards the broom beneath him as he flew.

It was instantly clear what was wrong. Someone was tampering with his broom as he flew, he could feel their magic in his broom, fighting with the natural magic on the broom.

Taking a hard turn straight upwards, Harry let his illusion fall when he was sure he was out of sight of everyone and forced his magic down through his broom.

Instead of focusing on a point like he did for spell casting or his illusions, he forced it down in waves, forcing all foreign magic from his broom and dispelling it down towards the field.

It only took a second, but Harry instantly knew something hadn't worked as he had intended. The broom was fine, the foreign magic had been expelled from it, but he could feel his own magic falling down from his heightened position like rain, splashing down on the players below. Harry could, not quite see, but feel where each of them were, where they were moving towards.

And it wasn't just the people he could feel, he felt his magic land on the snitch down near the base of the Slytherin goal posts, skirting merrily across the grass.

Homing in on that specific point, Harry shot downwards as fast as he could, making to intercept the snitch where he could feel the magic he had released fading into the wind.

With a mighty pull, Harry pulled up just along the grass, his good left eye lined up with the oncoming snitch. Quick as lightning, Harry snagged the snitch from the air and only now did he allow himself to give a cheer, holding the snitch high in his left hand for all to see.

The Gryffindor side of the stands let out a roar and the Slytherin side seemed to be still realizing what had happened.

Harry gave another cheer, this one exaggerated, as he landed, letting his teammates mob him to celebrate their 'victory'.

In reality, he was using them as crutches because it was taking everything he had left to still stand and keep his mask up. He didn't quite know how nearly ALL of his magic got used in his attempt to remove the foreign magic from his broom, but now he was left running on fumes.

All he had intended to do was send a small wave-like burst of magic to get the foreign magic on his broom off. But what had happened was he somehow dumped most of his reserves into it, sending the excess magic 'raining' down. No one had seen it of course, their own magic passively protecting them from seeing non directed magic like McGonagall explained to him when they first met, but Harry was still somehow connected to the magic he had released. He had been able to 'see' what it 'felt'.

It was like his magic had acted as a rudimentary sonar system.

This he could work with.

It wouldn't replace his missing eye, but it would help keep himself 'seeing' until he found a permanent solution. If he could learn to use it without exhausting himself in seconds that is.

Yet another task to add to his growing list of things to learn. Thank god he had been on top of his school work since he had first gotten his school books from Diagon. If he actually had to spend time doing school work, he wouldn't have enough time for his own projects. As it was the essays the professors made him write were starting to eat into his personal research and practice time.

Harry let himself get carried into the locker room by the twins, where he played up an adrenaline crash as he hid his complete magical exhaustion from the rest of the team. They bought it easy enough, especially as Harry had yet to let go of the snitch since he had landed. Wood had even jokingly told him to keep it, as it was the first snitch he had ever caught.

Harry 'laughed' good-naturedly along with the rest of the team as the took their victory march back up to the common room, where a party was undoubtedly waiting for them.

Harry made an appearance before dismissing himself up to his dorm, playing it off as post-game exhaustion to anyone who protested.

As he slowly climbed into his bed, his mind was quickly going through potential uses for his new found ability, once he could control it of course. The obvious uses were quickly filed away, but there was one idea that stuck in Harry's head.

Ever since magic had been revealed to him, he had been operating under the impression that illusions and visible raw magic were ineffective because of each individual's 'natural magic' protecting them.

It had thrown Harry off that there was no explanation for this phenomenon, but now he had a way to put it to the test, a way to see just exactly he was up against if he wanted to get into people's heads.

And his last thought before drifting off in exhaustion, was that he knew exactly where, or rather who, his experiments would begin.

**Well, that happened. And I found a way to actually use Quidditch to give Harry a new power, make it somewhat meaningful to the plot beyond a game and distraction. Yes, Hermione is alive, and she will be eventually returning, so we'll see what happens then. I do have a rough plan for it, but specifics are still up in the air. **

**I've gotten several comments that people think Harry is manipulative, dark and childish… I know it was meant as criticism, but I took it as a compliment, because that's exactly what I wanted. Harry isn't exactly stable. He's 11, from an abusive home, constantly on a bit of a power trip, and holds grudges like nobody's business. I try to make him a flawed character so he has room to grow and mature in the future. My favorite fics to read all feature character growth, and a big part of my writing is writing something I would want to read. So thank you to those who noticed Harry's flaws, my message was received. **

**My vacation had a lot less writing than I thought it would, but it was awesome and I reconnected with some old friends so I don't really mind. I start school again in less than a week though so it might be a sec for another chapter while I readapt to college. I can promise it won't be another 7 month break, I don't think I'll be having a break down again. **

**Hope everyone's summer ends well and that whatever fall brings is more fun than the work I know I'll have. Fav, follow, and review, I love seeing over 60 emails each time I post a new chapter with new favs. **

**Happy Reading -Centurion Africanus**


	9. Chapter 9

**I don't own HP**

Magical Sonar, as Harry had taken to calling it, was a lot harder to practice than he first thought.

First off, to even get the result he wanted, he had to push his magic out in a wide spread burst, far larger than he wanted it to be. It was exhausting work, at first he could only get off a single burst before collapsing in a state of near complete magical exhaustion. It was only thanks to his rigorous practice before that he knew how to keep his mask in place while letting off so much magic. He was getting better, but it was a slow process.

The biggest problem was that his magic behaved like water, going out in a wave, then dispersing like rain hitting a windshield when it reached a target. It was wasteful to the extreme, and Harry was trying to make it work like proper echo location. To have his magic go out, but then bounce back to him with the information he needed. That way he could reabsorb it, and while he would still be using far more magic than he should be for the technique, it would still be usable until he learned to better control his magic, which was much harder without a wand than he had first thought.

The difference between holding a bit of his raw magic in his hand like a flame and manipulating it's form, direction, density, and amount was staggering. Like going from lifting five pound weights, to lifting a weight rack with one hand and writing a complex potions essay with the other.

He hadn't even gotten to test out if others could detect his sonar bouncing off them because if he started collapsing randomly in the corridors, people would start asking questions. Although he still planned on using the pink haired Hufflepuff as his test target. She/he was the only one who had caught onto his being more than what he seemed, had seen a flaw in his mask. So if anyone would be able to feel his magic affecting them, it would be them.

It was dangerous, sure, but Harry was confident in his ability to stay hidden if she/he came looking for him. All the extra practice handling large amounts of his magic had given him enough control to make his blur illusion much cleaner and easier to hold than before. And he had added the other Gryffindor first years to his repertoire of faces and had begun work on those in other houses, starting with the annoying blonde Slytherin that was still dancing to his tune.

Malfoy had approached him three more times for their little 'duels' and each time, Harry one upped him, demonstrating a few of the spells they were set to learn later in the year to put weight behind his words. The final time, Malfoy had tried to claim he had learned twenty new spells, but as it had only been a day, Harry called him out and left the boy stuttering for any kind of response.

Why he had been put into Slytherin, Harry would never know. The boy was as subtle as a blind elephant. And just about as loud now that Harry thought about it. And although he hadn't heard it much personally, the words 'my father' apparently came out of his mouth almost every other word.

With loyalty like that, it was a wonder the blonde wasn't in Hufflepuff.

November flew by in a blur of practicing and researching, Harry had long since completed the first year course work, and the winter holidays were set to begin as most of the castle's inhabitants fled for the comparative warmth of their own homes instead of the large drafty castle.

Harry was staying of course. The Dursleys wanted him home just as much as he wanted to be there, that is to say, not at all. Not to mention all the research and practice he would have uninterrupted by classes. He would still need to make appearances at meals and the like, but he knew that a break to eat and digest new knowledge was important to progressing.

Harry watched from a seated perch on a bannister in the grand stairwell as most students lugged their trunks behind them as they made their way back to the train. Already deep in thought about what he would be practicing and researching, Harry almost failed to notice the older student creeping up behind him.

"How you doing little firstie, keeping my secret well enough?" The Hufflepuff, whose name and gender Harry still wasn't certain on as he was convinced they were hiding their true face as he was, leaned over the railing he was seated on. They glanced over at him with a sideways glance and a small smirk on their face.

"Yes." Harry said, forcing a small blush to form on his illusion as he 'recalled' their last meeting. In actuality he was scanning the Hufflepuff with his keen eye, taking note of their packed trunk next to them and their fur cloak over a pair of jeans and muggle sweatshirt with a faded logo.

"A perfect blush, how quaint. Isn't reaching your ears though, those usually get red before the cheeks do. I'm impressed, you've got a good handle on it if you can pull that off on command like that." They replied, ruffling his hair and shocking Harry into a moment of silence. How on earth did they figure it out so quickly.

"Well, have a good holiday then Harry, don't go messing about too much, the walls have eyes you know." And with that, they were gone, lugging their trunk down the stairs and out into the light December snowfall.

Once again, Harry found himself completely outplayed by the Hufflepuff, completely unable to get a defensive word in as they picked his mask apart, finding little flaws he hadn't even thought of before. That settled it, he was going to need to find a book on human physical reactions to match from if he wanted to keep others from figuring out his mask. The Hufflepuff clearly was going to be a step ahead of him now that they knew he wore a mask, they would always be expecting it.

"Well well, lookie here, looks like Ickle Harrikins has his first crush, and on Tonksie no less."

"Yes, brother dearest, it seems our young friend is quite smitten with the self proclaimed Mistress Colorful."

Almost like they melted out of the walls, the Weasley Twins boxed in Harry on either side of the railing. Unlike the Hufflepuff, they actually managed to sneak up on him, meaning Harry was left gaping for a short moment in shock, which the red heads took as affirmation to their claims.

"We should warn you Harry, "

"Tonks the great and terrible is not to be trifled with."

"Our brother Charlie dated her for a while two years ago."

"He got a fork shoved almost completely through his thigh for that one."

"Granted, he kinda deserved it."

"He actually said he'd rather date a dragon than her if he could."

"Although, that probably applied to everyone and not just Tonks."

"Charlie always has been a bit obsessed."

"Nothing like large killer fire-breathing reptiles to get the motor running you know."

"Of course Tonks took it a bit personally."

"She shoved that fork straight into his thigh right in the middle of breakfast."

"Never seen her hair that red before."

"Almost expected her to start breathing fire."

"Charlie probably would have asked for her back if she did."

Harry quickly caught onto the twins usage of back and forth as they told their tail, and if he had to guess, the G and F labeled sweaters they were wearing were on the opposite brother.

"So her name is Tonks?" Harry asked in a 'shy' voice, letting the twins think they were dealing with a preteen dealing with his first crush as he fished for information.

"She-who's-first-name-must-never-be-used Tonks." The twin Harry guessed was George in the F labeled swear replied with a nod.

"Rumor is, last time it got used, the kid had to spend a week with Madame Pomfrey." Fred continued, wiggling his fingers in what he probably thought was an intimidating manner. The fact that this Tonks had somehow managed to instill enough fear into people to not use her first name was impressive. Harry was at least glad he finally had a gender to go with the one who constantly outplayed him. Now having proof of relationships with multiple males, combined with the completely lack of any gay culture in the wizarding world meant Tonks was indeed female.

"Do you know how she does that thing with her hair?" Harry asked, letting a bit of confidence leak through the shyness he was putting up.

"Figured that's what had you Harriekins, Tonks is indeed a witch of many talents."

"She's what's called a metamorphagus."

"Rare bloodline trait of the Black family that pops up once every few generations."

"Granted, any pure-blood has a shot at being one, with the rampant inbreeding and all."

"Let's her change her physical appearance to anything she wants, within some reason."

"She always stays between Flitwick and Hagrid in size, but beyond that, field's open."

"Even seen her as a bloke before."

"That was a weird week."

"Think that was the only week we haven't gotten a detention before.

"That was the week after brother-o-mine. We stuffed McGonagall's office chair with catnip that week."

"Ah yes, how could I forget. Our dearest Head of House was most displeased when she went to grade our essays, only to find herself sinking into a blissful nap until Flitwick came to find her because she missed lunch and dinner."

Harry let a real chortle slip through at this. He could barely picture the stern professor meowing like her animagus form while scratching at her large office chair. He had to find out how the twins pulled that one off. For defensive reasons of course.

"So she can look like anyone, like a super spy?" Harry asked, letting his muggle upbringing shine through, painting a picture of naivety for the twins.

"She could, but she sticks to a reasonable build and pink hair most of the time. Although she does lose control of her hair color if she gets too emotional. Red for angry, blue for sad, etc, etc." Fred said, standing up from his spot boxing Harry in.

"We'll leave you to your yearning young Harry, and remember, age is but a number." George said from his other side as the duo left.

Harry gave a small wave before scampering away back to the library. Let the twins think he was shy going for refuge instead of going to research everything he could about metamorphagus.

Even as he swept through the quiet shelves, Harry couldn't stop the passing thought that maybe the twins were more than they showed. Anyone who managed to pull even half of the pranks they did as well as they did was definitely someone Harry would classify as skilled. Food for thought at least.

It took until Christmas morning for Harry to be satisfied with his findings. Not only did her understand what a metamorphagus was, but he also now had a spell from a 'disproved' book that was supposed to identify a metamorph and a long genealogy sheet of the Black family, the supposed source of the skill.

Harry was definitely surprised to find that his paternal grandmother was a Black, meaning there was a chance he had was a metamorph himself. With all the pieces, Harry was finally able to get a better understanding of why Tonks was so interested in him.

Long story short, she thought he was like her. With the stories of Harry Potter and his scar long ingrained into the wizarding community, he knew he was shocking people with the fact he didn't have one. In truth it had long since faded under the ropey scar from Vernon's abuse, and he wasn't skilled enough at the time to project a fake one with his illusion mask.

The consequence however, one he had never anticipated, was now there WAS someone on the loose that was expecting him to be hiding his true face. It was a series of circumstances that Harry could never have predicted, even with the wild tangents he admitted he would sometimes go on.

Thankfully, Tonks was a seventh year, and that meant as long as he kept her influence from spreading to other students, he could keep himself secure in future years. Now that he knew what she was trying to see in him, he could show that to her, and keep her from thinking that there was another layer hiding.

Of course, there was still the possibility that Tonks was a mastermind like he was, scouting out competition, but now that he had further context for the situation, Harry had to admit he felt like he had jumped to conclusions a bit. His paranoia had created a threat to his mask, and the illusory threat of Tonks he had created had him acting out of fear instead of logic like he was supposed to.

It was a mistake, probably. Overestimating her intentions had wound up being just as detrimental as if he had underestimated her, perhaps even more so.

How much time had he wasted, how many hours of trying to stay back and observe her when he could pin-point her in a crowd. He could definitely see why the Weasley twins thought he had a crush on her, he had damn near stalked her, trying to find some hidden meaning in her day-to-day actions when there probably wasn't one.

But in the end, he had learned. And it hadn't cost him overly much. That was what was most important in this whole situation. That he was able to learn from situations like this, so he wouldn't make the same mistakes in the future.

And for an 11 year old, that was all he could ask of himself. Not perfection, but to never make the same mistake twice.

With a sigh, Harry closed the book in his lap and opened the shades around his bunk. Christmas was a day he was going to have to be highly visible for. He had to be seen opening his gifts, enjoying them, and then stuffing his face and enjoying the 'festivities'.

Personally, Harry thought the concept of Christmas was an excuse for a great number of stupid things. But he had an image to maintain, and had indeed ordered gifts for the few people he deemed socially close enough to send them too. A herbology book for Neville, some candy for the twins and Tonks, a strong tea leaf for Hagrid, and a cat toy for McGonagall. He could already see the exasperated expression on her face as she opened what was probably the hundredth cat toy she received as a gag gift from students over the years.

Nothing overly thoughtful and expensive, but enough to show he had character of his own, and that he knew enough about the individuals to send appropriate gifts.

As he had expected, he had a small piles of gifts of his own to open when he reached the common room.

Candy from the twins he was sure was pranked in some fashion, a sweater from the Weasley matriarch that did look rather warm, a small broom replica from Neville, a wooden owl shaped flute from Hagrid, and a bulky package that didn't identify a giver like the others.

The note it came with instead said, "Your father left this in my possession before he died. Use it well."

The loopy handwriting was rather distinctive, but it didn't match any professor or student's Harry had seen. As the Weasley's had already left the common room for the joys of the frozen grounds, Harry was left alone to ponder his gifted heirloom.

The first step was figuring out what the hell it was. So with nimble fingers, Harry untied the string around the dull wrapping and unfolded the material within. It was a cloak, and not a new one either. It was a faded brown, with dark and light patches scattered throughout the design. It was sized for a fully grown wizard instead of a child like himself, he could probably fit three of him comfortably under it if he threw it over his like a blanket instead of wearing it like it was meant to be worn.

The material was silky as he held it, thin, yet somehow durable. There were no sleeves, but there was a hood attached.

Standing and throwing the cloak around himself, Harry felt the light material settle around him. The size of the cloak swallowing him in its folds. Already he could feel the cloak dragging on the ground behind him, but when he looked down to see by how much, he was shocked to find his entire body had vanished the cloak.

Harry gave a toothy smile as he raised his arm from within the folds of the cloak, bringing it back into visibility. This was something he could work with. Not something to rely on, but an extremely useful tool to have, and one he was going to take full advantage of.

Afterall, there was still one section in the library he had yet to begin digging through, and with this, he knew exactly how he would finally be able to get into the fabled restricted section.

**Well, that took…...forever. School is hard. My work ethic is crap. Anime is distracting. Video games are distracting. Social lifes are distracting. Writing just has a way of falling through the cracks, then reappearing at the most inconvenient times. Like now for example. I have a crap ton of stuff I SHOULD be doing, but instead, I just spent two hours finishing this. **

**Sure it makes me feel better posting, because I do feel really bad when I don't get to post for a while. Magical Sense is literally tearing me apart. My writing gets depressingly bad half way through. The idea in my head didn't make it onto the page, and now, about two years later, I actually kinda know what I want to say, I just don't have the time to go through every chapter and fix them all at once, keeping the story line continuous and keeping to character. Not to mention, I hated the eclipse gate arc and have no idea how I want to end my GMG and what to do with the following arcs. **

**So yeah, I've got stuff. Don't know when I'll post next, or for what. I've got the next chapter for Izuku Smash started, same with Legends of Remnant, but I haven't been as inspired for those. Will probably be another chapter for trickster. Mirror of Erised and Harry having an interaction with Dumbledore. Should be fun. **

**Happy Reading -Centurion Africanus**


	10. Chapter 10

**I don't own HP**

After an entertaining dinner featuring an abundance of food and exploding noise makers, Harry finally was able to slip out of the common room once he was sure Percy Weasley had taken his brown-nosing self to bed.

Swiftly making his way through the darkened halls, Harry made it to the library in almost record time, his excitement adding to his speed.

From what he had observed, the restricted section was meant for NEWT students to delve deeper into specific areas of their studies for their examinations. Things that bordered even Harry's definition of dark magic and certainly crossed the Ministry's definition of such. Even books that would have been in the disproved section normally were kept there if their contents were dangerous enough.

If he were the staff, he would have information he wanted kept away from students locked away behind wards and guarded by the librarian, but he had seen several older Slytherin students slip into the section and out again with a book tucked under their robes while their classmates kept Madam Pince busy.

If Harry had to guess, Pince was trusted to keep people out of the section, but there was more to it than that. Harry had never seen any of the Slytherins actually open the books inside the library. They would always leave the library almost immediately after they had the book. If Harry had to guess, there was some sort of alarm charm or ward linked to the books, probably linked to the permission slips the Ravenclaw students always showed to Madam Pince before retrieving a book.

A quick search through a book titled 'The Beginners Guide to Wards and Related Charms' presented a laundry list of options for Dumbledore to protect the books without actually preventing the students from trying to take them. That way they could catch the students red handed, and hopefully scare them off the books in the future.

So Harry would follow the Slytherin example and had his empty book bag ready at his side underneath the invisibility cloak he had received from either a friend of his parents that he had never met or Dumbledore. As he had noted on Halloween, the man was so much more than he let anyone see at anypoint in time, and the handwriting matched what he could see the old man writing.

Harry's tour de forbidden took much longer than he wanted, and he ended up walking out of the library with his bag almost spilling books out onto the floor. Having to 'window shop' for books by their title and cover only meant he had almost assuredly grabbed a few duds that wouldn't help him very much, but there were a few that seemed promising.

Titles like 'Illusions of the Future' and 'A Wizard's Biology' were just too good to not have something interesting. Maybe the second would finally explain to Harry how an individual's magic would protect them on an instinctive level somehow. It was near the top of things for Harry to learn to bypass, as it kept his illusions to self changes rather than the grand scale deceptions he had dreamt of while kept as a prisoner by the Dursleys.

As Harry was making his way back to Gryffindor Tower and the safety of his bed to dive into his looted books, he felt a tug on his mind, pulling his attention to a hallway in the opposite direction.

It was a curious feeling. Harry was disciplined enough that he brushed off most of the effects, but it was now replaced by a growing suspicion. What exactly was that, who had done it, and what did they want him to find down that corridor.

Could they see him despite his invisibility, and was there some ward set in the hallway meant to draw attention to that specific corridor.

The questions whirled in Harry's mind as he slowly made his way down the hallway, one hand holding his loaded book bag to his side, preventing it from swinging and taking the cloak off him. He could very well be walking into a trap, he knew that, but at the same time, knowing it was a trap negated the surprise of it, meaning that as long as he was prepared, he would be fine.

Of course, he took the additional precaution and made his face look like Ronald's. Even without an invisibility cloak, Harry Potter would never be seen out of bed at night.

Harry crept down the unlit hallway, trying to recall where the compulsion had pulled him. None of the doors really caught his attention the way the hallway itself had, so he kept walking until he noticed the furthest door was half open, leaving the barest hint of moonlight from a window inside the room to shine through. Harry had a hard time stopping his hand from instinctively reaching out and grabbing the handle the second he saw the door. Instead, Harry had his wand drawn from his makeshift fabric wrist holster as he inched his way until he was almost in the door frame itself, hiding behind the door as he gently pressed his hand up against the door, allowing it to swing inwards into the undoubtedly trapped room.

The lack of anything inside the room beyond a large object covered by a white sheet was not what Harry had been expecting, but not a negative. It was a better surprise than opening the door and finding a larger dog with even more heads than the one he had found on the third floor. That would have been both unfortunate and a bit stale, given he already had several theories about how to get around the Cerberus if he so desired.

After several minutes skirting the edges of the room to ensure there would be no surprises other than the covered object and a healthy layer of dust, a sign that the object had been present for some significant amount of time, Harry finally turned his attention to the mysteriou object he was almost certain was the object he was meant to find from the compulsion that drew him down the hallway.

The compulsion itself wasn't that large of a question for Harry. With his preexisting theory that Dumbledore had given him the cloak, it was likely he could see underneath it, enough to track Harry himself and send the compulsion to find the object. Either that, or it was triggered by passing by that specific hallway and had been placed on him earlier, maybe even during the festivities during dinner. Harry was ashamed now to admit he had allowed himself to get caught up in the liveliness generated by the Weasley twins and allowed his guard to drop slightly. It wasn't a mistake he would make again. While Tonks might not have been a manipulator like him, Dumbledore most certainly was, one that out skilled him by a wide margin and had over a century more experience than him.

If he wanted Harry to do something badly enough, Harry had to find a way to do so in a way that best aligned with his own interests. Because the old man could certainly force Harry to do a great many things that he wouldn't otherwise, all it would take was a flick of his wand, if he even needed that. So for now, Harry would play along with whatever Dumbledore had set up, if only to find out what exactly the old headmaster was up to and find a way to make it work for him.

With this in mind, Harry carefully stood to the presumed side of the object and used a muttered levitation charm to lift the sheet off the object. No use advertising that he could cast that particular spell wordlessly and motionlessly in case Dumbledore was unaware and had the room monitored like he suspected. Even if casting dispelled his Ron illusion, that was another thing he didn't mind Dumbledore not knowing, if he didn't already that is.

Under the sheet was a large ornate gold mirror, a series of etching running up and down the sides of the mirror while the surface, while reflective, had some mystical property to it that made Harry think it wasn't glass that would reflect his image if he stepped into its focus.

Harry carefully inched his way around the back of the mirror, sticking close to the wall and keeping his invisibility cloak closely wrapped to him, his stuffed book bag swaying gently at his side. Mirrors could hold a great many dangers. It could be some kind of summoning portal and bring him to a demon plane, or vice-versa and the sight of him could summon a demon into the room. At least, according to the limited fantasy he had seen at number 4. What was much more likely was some form of mind magic.

It could force him to do any number of things, force him under control when he stepped into the view of the mirror itself, it could change his personality, it could even change physical things if the enchantment was strong enough. It was like a magical mystery box that Harry was almost sure would have something negative, even if he was relatively certain it wouldn't result in physical harm.

Unless of course he seriously misread Dumbledore and the old man secretly wanted him dead, but he doubted it. With his fame and status, it was much more likely that the old man wanted him to grow a certain way, follow certain morals. And once he found out what those were exactly, he could act like it when he was being observed by the headmaster. Just another side to his mask.

Inching his way more into view of the mirror now, Harry took a closer look at the many etchings around the edge, the invisibility cloak wrapped loosely around him, hopefully his shield against whatever the mirror was meant to do.

Most of the etchings on the large stand-alone mirror were simple branch like designs, nothing too extravagant or anything hinting at a further purpose of the mirror. Along the top however was a line of nonsense english.

"Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi" Harry mumbled out, trying to recognize the words as any language he had heard before. The use of the english alphabet told him it was a romance language, stemmed most likely from Greek and Latin, but what little he knew of other languages not used in casting or spoken by himself told him nothing.

The only word that he was remotely familiar with was 'ube', and that was because it was the name of the purple yam Aunt Petunia had made him try and cook once. And Harry very much doubted that the mirror had anything to do with vegetables from other places in the world.

So with one last fearful thought of the mirror turning him into a purple yam, Harry stepped into view of the mirror and looked into the glistening not-glass that took up the majority of the face of the mirror.

And he saw nothing but the empty room reflected back in the silvery mirror face.

That meant either the cloak was protecting him, and whatever the mirror did wasn't something he could detect right now. A quick pat down reassured him that he hadn't grown anything extra while he wasn't looking and he was most certainly not a yam, so with a moment to steel his nerves, Harry shrugged off the cloak and looked into the mirror.

The reflection rippled for a moment, showing him as he was first, then rippling to something different.

Gone was the dusty stone room around him, instead the backdrop showed wooden walls, packed with bookshelves, each filled with old leather tomes. A quick glance behind him showed that the room itself hadn't changed, but rather, the reflection had.

Within the book laden room, sat an old man on a leather recliner, one of the many books propped up on his lap. His long hair was white with age, but a balding pattern forming on the crown of his head did nothing to stop the mess of hair from falling into his face and hiding the upper half of his features. A stubble of equally white hair was just barely visible on his chin and upper lip as he read, his mouth occasionally twitching in some kind of amusement at what he read. He was dressed in a simple black robe lined with a soft looking fur, and he was settled back in his chair, feet propped up and covered in large fuzzy socks, unmoving in his relaxation. It was when he briefly paused and looked up from his book that Harry's mind began to race at the impossible image.

The lone green eye in the image reflected back at his own, the ropey scar tissue of the other was halted only by a black eye patch where Harry knew there was nothing beneath.

The…...older image of himself…...gave him a slight smile, the corners of his mouth twitching up slightly in what some might interpret as a slight smile before turning back to his tome, his hair once again shading his eye from view.

It felt like a bucket of cold water was poured down Harry's spine as his fight-and-flight instincts triggered from whatever enchantment they had been under and he quickly grabbed the cloak and covered himself again.

He had thought he had shrugged off the compulsion to go down the hallway, but in reality, it had just settled much deeper into his mind. He had kept rationalizing and taking halting steps forward until he was in front of the mirror, taking a risk he most certainly would not have if he had been in his right state of mind. With the cloak once again around his shoulders and his treasure laden bag held closely to his side, Harry quickly fled the room, not caring that his rushed exit was disrupting the layers of dust in the room and that he left the mirror uncovered.

He had thought, in his arrogance, that he had shaken off an enchantment placed by Dumbledore, when in reality, it was pushing him forward even with his awareness that he had been afflicted by it. It was like he had been confunded on top of being compelled. Confusion to block his instincts and a direction to guide his conscious mind. It was maddeningly complex and incredibly effective. He had played right along with it until it faded after he stepped in front of the mirror.

The mirror. It was clearly an ancient artifact, one of great power, if it did what Harry thought it did. Even now as he slipped back into the common room, he couldn't shake the image out of his mind. It was an image of himself, just as mirrors were supposed to show, but it was himself as he was. It wasn't Harry Potter that had looked back at him, almost as if he knew that the young boy was looking in on him in his advanced age. It was himself, as old as Dumbledore was now, sheltered away and surronded by knowledge.

It was him in the future, or at least, a potential future. Now that he had seen it, would that change his actions that would in turn make that future false, or was it predetermined that because he saw it, it would some day come to pass. A real catch 22 if he had ever seen one. At least it answered his question for what the mirror did, and what Dumbledore wanted from him badly enough that he would layer enchantments on him.

Dumbledore wanted to know his future. If Harry had to guess, there was some kind of recording feature that would show Dumbledore what it had shown him later on. All in all, it wasn't a bad thing really, sure Dumbledore would see the damage done to his face, but he would probably assume that had happened some time between now and whenever in the future that image occurred. It showed him as peaceful and scholarly, and he could live with Dumbledore believing that was him.

As he slipped back into his bed, careful not to wake Ron, Harry took a moment to be grateful that Dumbledore or any other professor hadn't caught him out and about while he was off balance from either the enchantments or what the mirror had shown him.

After all, the last place any trouble maker wanted to be, was caught. It meant more scrutiny in the future and less freedom to act independently of the rules.

No, detention was one of the last things Harry wanted, if only because of how much harder it would be to get away with things afterwards.

**Well, that was both shorter than intended and took longer to get out than intended. **

**The mirror scene has been fighting me for months now, and I think this is the best version of it. Definitely better than the few versions I had written where Dumbledore was there with him or he went back a second time. Harry also doesn't actually know what the mirror shows, or what the image he saw means, but that will all be explained when he does finally get into it with Dumbledore. **

**I'm pretty sure the next two to three chapters will wrap up first year, I don't plan on writing any more mask development scenes, as Harry basically has that done at this point. I'm trying to show Harry as both paranoid and mature, with a fair bit of ruthlessness to match, so I hope that is coming across well. **

**No clue when the next update will be, it is hard to write this kind of deep mental thought, but it does keep the writing interesting, so it could be soon or far. And I also started writing my own original story, so that is taking up a fair bit of my time as well. **

**Happy Reading -Centurion Africanus**


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